Innocence and Beauty
by TriplePirouette
Summary: Grissom got burned, badly... and it was a long time ago. Here's my take that spans nearly thirty years in the life of Gil Grissom. GSR... spoilers up until about season 5, then it follows my own timeline.
1. For an Hour I Have Walked and Prayed

Title: Innocence and Beauty

  


By: TriplePirouette

Category: Angst, ??? GSR eventually- you just gotta wait for it.... 

Spoilers: one slight to LHB and to BoP (so far- will be updated)

Disclaimer: They're not mine- I'm a poor college student having fun... take pity... 

Distribution: please ask first :) 

Summary: Grissom was burned, badly. And it started a long time ago. 

  


Author's notes: My take on how Grissom was burned, and why he's been becoming more withdrawn for the last two seasons. This is the beginning of a HUGE fan fic endeavor- one that I've never taken before. first- I've never tried to write a story where I've filled in so may blanks while at the same time needed to do research, second- I've NEVER posted a WIP_ I always told myself not to because I was afraid I'd never finish. But for some reason this wants to be worked on a lot, huge, and posted! Here goes nothing! Thanks to Les and Kelly :) 

(Leslie said she cried in the first part- I'll admit it's sad- you may want a box of tissues close by, just in case.)

  


Feedback PLEASE at: TriplePirouettePhile@hotmail.com I love anything constructive! I'm new

at the CSI stuff, so any tips will be appreciated! Blatant flames, however, will be disregarded and

used to roast s'mores.... 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From Lady Heather's Box:

  


Grissom: What did you consider this? A little civility before work, I think? 

Lady Heather: ... or a ritual to put us at ease. Or how about "in custom and ceremony, are innocence and beauty born." 

Grissom: Yeats ... "Prayer For My Daughter." 

Lady Heather: Or our morning. 

  


From Burden of Proof:

  


Catherine: "Are you in denial? Wow, you got burned deep, hum?" 

  


~~~

  


Chapter 1- For an hour I have walked and prayed 

_Once more the storm is howling, and half hid   
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid   
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle   
But Gregory's wood and one bare hill   
Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,   
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;   
And for an hour I have walked and prayed   
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind. _

The first stanza of Yeats' "A Prayer for My Daughter" keeps running through my head. For some reason that's all I can remember of it. I'll have to go look up the rest of it later. I'm standing next to her cradle in the dead of night. The moon glow is coming though the window across the room just enough to bathe her and make her look radiant. I've been standing here for a while now, probably too long. But I don't want to leave her bedside. She seems too small, too vulnerable. 

  


She was an accident, but not a mistake.

  


She'll never be a mistake to me. 

  


She's only 2 months old, but she holds my heart in those tiny hands of hers. As she shifts in her sleep I fold my arms over the rail to the crib, resting my chin on them so I can get a closer look at her. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing her, knowing she came from me. 

  


I'm watching her now for a reason. I don't think I'll get many more chances to do this. Tears start to well up in my eyes. I let them fall. She won't care. 

  


Her mother never gets out of bed for anything short of her daughter screaming for at least ten minutes. And it's not because she's trying to get her used to sleeping at night. It's because she's lazy. She's told me so. She doesn't want her night's sleep interrupted by our daughter. She also won't breast feed because she's afraid certain things will start sagging. 

  


It's amazing how quickly your perception of a person can change. 

  


Maggie and I can't stand each other anymore; two years ago we couldn't have been more in love, it's all falling apart now. 

  


As I stand here, waiting for her to start to inevitably whimper for her next feeding, I can't bare the thought of leaving her. 

  


I check my watch, let out a sigh, and go to warm the bottle. 

  


_And for an hour I have walked and prayed   
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind. _

  


Yeats got it right, there is a great gloom on my mind now. Two glooms in fact. The first is that I may never see her again. Maggie and I aren't even married, I have paternal rights, but they won't be enough for any court int this country to rip a newborn from her mother. I think she wants to move away from me, she does want me to see our baby, she's insinuated as much. I wouldn't be surprised. The things she's said....

  


"Bugs.. Fucking bugs... you're going to raise her to be a fucking geek- you know that? A little hermit sulking around just like you..."

  


"Night shift? You want to work night shift? And you're still going to be the fucking coroner? Don't get me started..."

  


"Don't you cut up enough things? Do you have to dissect me, too?"

  


"I can't stand to be around you anymore..."

  


"What the hell did I see in you in the first place..."

  


"I could live my life without ever seeing you again..."

  


Maggie could go to Iceland for all I care right now. It's her I can't lose. I tip toe back into her room, warm bottle of formula in hand. She's still breathing deeply, sleeping tight. The second cloud that hangs over my head is something that Maggie didn't even know until after we found out we were pregnant. I had to tell her then. 

  


Otosclerosis is hereditary- and in my family. My mother is deaf, and preliminary tests are telling me that I may have inherited it as well. The dried tear tracks on my face are flowing again. I had never thought about that particular ramification of having children. All signs point to normal hearing for her right now. But that could change. I don't want it to. I watched my mother go deaf, she handled it with as much grace as anyone could. But I still saw the deep struggle within her, and the sadness that penetrated her when she couldn't hear anymore. She told me she missed hearing my laugh once. 

  


I now fear the day I lose my hearing- if only for the fact that I will miss hearing her laughter. 

  


She begins to stir in her crib and her tiny fists go to her face, her legs kicking out. She makes a few gurgling noises before opening her eyes to reveal them to me. 

  


"Hey my baby girl," I whisper to her. God forbid I wake her mother in the next room- I'll have the fight of the century on my hands. I quickly swipe at the tears on my face with the hand that hold the bottle, letting my sweatshirt absorb them. I know she can't understand- but I never want her to see me upset or angry. God knows she's heard me and Maggie fighting way too much already. 

  


I reach one hand into her crib and gently stroke a finger down her cheek, all the while smiling at her. She repays me with a happy gurgle and grabs my finger with a tiny fist. "Do you have Daddy's finger?" She laughs and claps her fists, still containing my finger, together- her legs working fiercely. 

  


I put the bottle down in the crib and use two hands to pick her up, quickly cradling her tiny frame to my chest, her head in the crook of my arm. She's still so small. I reach back for the bottle then guide it to her mouth. She takes it and starts suckling on it, eyes blue and wide, staring at me. 

  


Maggie says her eyes can still change color. I like to think they'll stay blue, like mine. The downy fuzz on her head already shows that she's going to have brown hair like her mother. 

  


I like to think that she might have something of mine, other than the sword of hearing loss hanging over her head.

  


I walk to the window and sit in the chair next to it. It's just a wooden chair- not very comfortable, but it will do for now. I start to talk to my daughter. I may use a light soft voice, but I never use baby talk. How will that teach her anything about words? 

  


"You know daddy loves you, more than anything in this entire world. And I'd do anything to be with you always. But it looks like that's not going to happen."

  


My throat chokes up, and I can't talk anymore without sobbing. 

  


I never thought I wanted children until I saw her tiny pink face staring up at me: so needy, so trusting. I fell in love at that moment. 

  


It kills me a little to think that she may be ripped from me in a matter of years, months, or even days. 

  


I know we can't stay like this. Maggie and I are volatile now. Nothing good can come of us forcing ourselves to stay together. But I can't picture allowing my baby to leave my side. But it looks like that's what I'm going to have to do soon to make sure she grows up in a peaceful house. 

  


I'll never let her go, though. I could never let her not know who I am. 

  


Even if she never wanted to see me again, I want her to make that decision, not Maggie. 

  


I'm nervous about letting Maggie raise her. When I heard she was pregnant I thought about how wonderful a mother she would be- and how incompetent a father I would make. Seems as though the tables have turned slightly. 

  


"I'll do everything I can." I whisper the promise to her. "Everything." 

  


The bottle slips from her mouth. She's fallen asleep. I put the bottle aside and rock gently, content to hold her in my arms. Clips of the rest of Yeats' poem come to mind. 

  


_Considering that, all hatred driven hence,   
The soul recovers radical innocence   
And learns at last that it is self-delighting,   
Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,   
And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will;   
She can, though every face should scowl   
And every windy quarter howl   
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.   
_

It's from somewhere in the middle of the poem, I think.

  


She is innocent, innocent in this situation we've put her in. I rest my head next to hers and breathe in deeply. She is my daughter. I would move Heaven and Earth for her. And if it means her own happiness, I will leave her.

  


I return her to her crib, the tears stinging at my eyes, but this time I do not let them fall. I place her gently back down and stare at her again. 

  


Fate is cruel. 

  


And she will pay for our youth-full indiscretions. 

  


She was an accident, but not a mistake. 

  


The mistake is how wrong it all turned out.

  


The mistake will be how I will have to live without her. 


	2. When you Wish Upon a Star

Chapter 2- When you Wish Upon a Star

  


Yesterday was Emma's first birthday. I celebrated by moving out. Rather, her mother celebrated. 

  


When I left with the last box, I cried. So did Emma; she was in her play pen, reaching up for me, wailing at the top of her lungs. 

  


Maggie just smiled and shut the door in my face. 

  


Now I'm just standing here in my new living room, my new apartment, at a loss. It's too quiet. 

  


No baby gurgles or laughs coming from the next room. Hell, at this point I'd settle for her screaming at the top of her lungs. But she's with Maggie, not me. 

  


We'd spent the last three months with lawyers and courts, trying to decide how to work this out. In the end I moved out, and legally I get a few weekends and certain holidays, as well as the pleasure of child support payments. Maggie and I both agreed that it was important to get some sort of legal mandate, but she told me that no matter how much she can't stand me, she wouldn't stop me from seeing Emma. So, at least for now, all I have to do is ask and I can see her. 

  


Somehow it's not enough. I walk over to the love seat and sit down, digging in the box next to me. I pull out a stuffed bunny, Emma's bunny, and hug it to my chest, closing my eyes and thinking of my baby girl. Maybe I'm hoping that when I open them she'll be there, her brilliant blue eyes smiling up at me. 

  


She's not there, though, when I open my eyes. Still clutching the bunny I scan the room. I haven't unpacked anything that I haven't needed yet, so my apartment is still in boxes and bags, the plain, sterile walls taunting me. I went from a home to a house. I want my home back. I get up and go back to the second bedroom and stare through the open door. 

  


Things had been getting better. Maybe it was because I was leaving, sleeping on the couch and looking for an apartment. Maybe it was because all of our fighting was being done by our lawyers and the only words we needed to say to each other were without tension. No matter the cause it had been getting better and I began to trick myself into thinking we could be a real family, that maybe she would ask me to stay and we could try again. The doorbell stuns me out of my reverie. I walk back through the small apartment, deposit the bunny back in its box, and open the door. 

  


The first thing I see is Maggie with a look of resentment on her face. I take a deep breath, ready for a fight, but my attention is stolen from her by the most beautiful sound in the world. 

  


"Dada! Dada! Dada! Dada!" Emma's sitting in her stroller at Maggie's feet, straining at the belt across her, reaching her hands out to me. I abandon Maggie all together and unbelt her, gathering her to my chest and hugging her. 

  


"Hey! There's my baby girl! Daddy missed you!" her chubby arms wind themselves around my neck. After a few seconds I pull away, shifting her to one arm and using my other hand to smooth her wavy hair away from her face. "I missed you a lot." I say it almost too quietly, and I'm afraid I might cry again. 

  


"Missed Dada," she says matter-of-factly before she puts both of her hands on my cheeks and squeezes just enough to make my lips pucker. Then she leans forward and plants a noisy, and slobbery, kiss right on my puckered lips. I stare at her stunned, a smile playing at the corners of my lips and tears forming as she lets out a squealing laugh and claps her hands on my cheeks. 

  


Our beautiful moment is interrupted by Maggie clearing her throat. "Sorry," I mumble as I grab the stroller with one hand, pulling it in the apartment, and moving back so she can enter. She closes the door behind her. Leaving the stroller by the door I follow Maggie into the center of the living room while she looks over the apartment. Emma's rested her head on my shoulder now and is playing with my collar as I rest my free hand on her back. She feels so right snuggled up against me. Much better than the damn stuffed rabbit. "Um," I begin softly, "Not that I'm not enjoying this impromptu visit, but did you have a reason for coming?" 

  


She turns to me and I see the defeat in her body, it doesn't become her. Her normally sparkling brown eyes are downcast, her wavy brown hair that she gave to Emma is pulled back messily, and her porcelain skin that I used to love to touch so much is almost sickly pale. The sweat pants and t-shirt she threw on for the chill in the air do nothing to accentuate her slender figure. "I'm sorry."

  


I tip my head to the side, and she understands my question immediately. She slumps into the love seat and absent mindedly picks up the bunny, stroking the fur. "She cried all last night Gil. I... I couldn't do anything. She wanted you. You were always... You could.... God, I feel like the worst mother in the world for doing this!" She buried her head in her hands. I wasn't going to disagree with her. Was this truly the first time she thought about this? About all of the ramifications of what we did? I was ready to interrupt, but she continued. "But Gil, you and I can't be together anymore. It just..." her eyes pleaded for me to understand. And I did, so I nodded just slightly. She breathed out heavily. "Um," She ran her hand through her hair and avoided my eyes. She looked nervous- like she did when she told me she was pregnant. So she changed the subject, "Didn't unpack much, did you?"

  


"Well, I was keeping busy," I sway back and forth, Emma still active but calm in my arms, as I moved toward Maggie. "I did a lot of work." I offer no other explanation. I'll show her eventually, but not right now. I want to hear what she has to say. 

  


"Um," she begins again. This time she stands and walks to me, running her hand through Emma's hair. "I know tonight's your night off, and I thought maybe you'd like to have her tonight." It comes out in a quiet rush from her, her eyes never leaving Emma. "I mean, we could get her used to being here right away... and.... and, well. I need to think Gil." She looks up at me, piercing eyes all of a sudden sharp and throwing her daggers right at me. 

  


It's almost accusatory, like she's blaming me for something. But I don't want to fight again. Not now, and not with Emma in my arms like this. I simply nod and look back at my beautiful daughter. "I'd love to."

  


I can tell by her sigh she was ready for a fight. She was almost disappointed that we didn't have one. She dropped her hand from Emma. "Ok. I'll go get her things from the car." 

  


"No need." I know my voice, lighthearted and happy for a change, surprises her as she turns to go to out to the car. 

  


"Gil, I only brought in her diaper bag," I start to slowly walk to the second bedroom as she points to it hanging on the back of the stroller, "You need at least her play pen for her to sleep in! Gil! Where are you going?" She stomps after me and stops short at the doorway, mouth agape. 

  


"I told you I was busy." I walk to the center of the room and spin Emma around slowly. "Emma, do you like your new room?"

  


It's the only room in the apartment that's done. Ok, it's the only room in the apartment that I even started. I'm lucky I put sheets on my bed to sleep in last night. I had worked frantically, but it was worth it. Emma was smiling, and although I didn't think she could tell exactly what this meant, the thought that it mad her smile made me smile even more. 

  


"Gil..." Maggie whispered as she walked into the room, her hands running over things here and there. It was as if she didn't believe it. "It's beautiful." 

  


It was a variation on Emma's room at home. The walls here were a bright yet pale yellow instead of the pepto-bismol pink Maggie had insisted on. Though the closet sat empty, the door was painted white to match the rest of the furniture in the room. I had ordered the same furniture we had in her house so that she'd feel a little more comfortable. The sheets and shades and anything soft or in prints were in Winnie the Pooh. Not the garish, gaudy prints usually in baby rooms, but a more subdued light blue print on white cotton of the older line drawings found in the books. It was sweet, yet sophisticated. The changing table was fully stocked, and there was a chair by the window, across from the crib. 

  


Maggie stopped at the one thing adorning the walls and stared. Finally she turned around and addressed me. "This is beautiful Gil. I'm sorry it has to be like this. But you and I both know that we'll be happier, and that will be better for her. I'll let myself out."

  


Was it the soft lighting or the evening sunset steaming through the window that made me think I saw tears in her eyes as she said that? She quickly turned and I heard the door close behind her a few seconds later. I leaned down, kissing Emma's forehead. "I hope so..." I whispered. Before my mind could wander to analysis of our decisions, my baby brought me salvation. 

  


"Pooh!" Emma pointed across the room to the wall Maggie had been looking at before she left. 

  


"Yes!" I happily explained to her. We moved toward to lone wall decoration: a framed lithograph of the more modern, Disney version of Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore, Rabbit and Christopher Robin sitting under a tree, looking up at the stars, one sparkling in particular, and a streak of color in the cobalt sky signaling a meteor. "It's Winnie the Pooh!" 

  


We walk closer and she points her tiny hand, "Pigit!"

  


"Very good! That's Piglet! Who's this?" I point my finger to Eeyore.

  


"Yore!" Comes her happy response. She claps her hands together. We play the game until we are out of characters to list. Then I turn to her, my eyes serious, but my tone still light, "This is your birthday present, Emma. It was your birthday yesterday, remember?"

  


She turns her head all the way to the side and looks like she's thinking very hard. I'll have to get a picture of her like that. It's the most beautiful look I've ever seen. " Em Birfday?" she asks.

  


"Yes. For Emma,"I point to her, "for her birthday." I point to the lithograph. "That's your present from Daddy." I point to myself. She smiles and leans forward, planting another sloppy, noisy kiss on my cheek. 

  


"Tars!" She smiles, pointing at the lithograph again. 

  


"Yes! Lots of stars. And this is a met–" I stop myself. She may be smart, but she's only one. "This is a shooting star." I say, pointing to the smudge. 

  


"What dat?" She points to the star that's the brightest. It's probably supposed to be the north star. But that means nothing. It's not the reason I bought this. 

  


"It's your star." I explain. I know she won't remember... and I'll probably end up explaining it twenty more times before she understands. But it doesn't matter. She rests her head back on my shoulder as I continue and point to it. "There's a star up in the sky that's just for you. And you can wish on that star, you know that? You say, 'twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are, up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.' Then you make your wish."

  


She yawns and curls up tighter against me her hands reaching around my neck and gripping the short hairs at the base of my skull, she tries to say "wish tonight," but it comes out as "ssissh tite."

  


I hug her to me and walk out to get her diaper bag. We go back to her room and I change her outfit to a warm pink snuggley for bed. I place her in her bed and she immediately curls up and falls asleep. I watch for a few minutes before grabbing the monitor and going out to the living room and regarding the boxes. I put down the monitor, turned all the way up so her deep breaths are reverberated in the room, and start searching through the boxes. 

  


About ten minutes later I come up with the envelope I'm looking for. Smiling, I carry it back to Emma's room. I pick the lithograph from the wall and open the frame from the back, then slip the parchment from the envelope and into the back of the frame. I look at it one last time before I close the frame. 

  


The calligraphy names one beautiful star in the heavens after Emma Madalyn Grissom, and at the bottom it's signed "Love, Dad."

  


Placing the lithograph back on the wall, I take up watch over my baby. I've started working the night shift recently, and I've been working very closely with the CSI shift there. It's fascinating work, but it's also flipped my nights and days. I'm wide awake, and I'd like nothing more than to just stand here all night and watch her breathe. 

  


"Wish upon as many stars as you want, Emma." I whisper as I reach down and lift a curl from near her mouth. "Wish on all the stars in the sky. And I hope every wish you make comes true." 

  



	3. Hula Baby

Chapter 3- Hula Baby

  


Grissom sat in the dark theatre, his eyes looking towards the stage but not focused. Instead of watching the show, every so often he'd look down to the tiny pad in his hands and make notes. His nimble fingers flew the pen across the tiny pad again:

  


_The shoes were untied..._

_ Going somewhere?_

_ Coming back from somewhere? _

  


He tapped the pen against his lips then tipped his head again toward the stage. He was trying his best not to be rude, but of the three hour show there were really only five minutes in it that interested him. So he strained his eyes to see the tiny pad in the dark, and when diving into his memory to go over the fresh crime scene he'd had to leave he tipped his eyes to the stage in a conciliatory gesture. 

  


He was thinking about the victim's shoes when he heard applause erupt around him, it snapped him back to reality and he clapped his hands as well. Just because he wasn't watching didn't mean the performance didn't deserve applause. Besides, he was surrounded by beaming parents- he feared for his safety should any of them think he was disrespectful of their children's performances. 

  


As the applause died down he twisted in his isle seat and turned his head to the left, whispering to Maggie, "How many more?" He'd only been sitting for an hour, but he was already getting antsy. The June heat and humidity was oppressive in the filled high school theatre. 

  


"She's after this one." Maggie huffed, almost mad that she'd brought him. "Just try to watch one dance, Gill? I know that this isn't exactly exciting for you- but just try to relax?" She paused and let her voice hit a normal- if not agitated- tone as the next song started to blast through the speakers. "And put your work away, please? This is no place for that!" Maggie huffed and went back to watching the young girls dance across the stage. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~

A dance recital is not exactly the place I wanted to spend my Friday night, but I'd go anywhere for her. Emma's smile as I picked her and her mother up this afternoon was enough reason to get through this semi-torture. If I'd brought a camera with me I would have taken a picture. Her hair was pulled up in pink foam rollers, forming curls that would be let out later. Her face was accented with just a bit too much make-up for my taste. Even if she was going to be on stage, she was only three. 

  


Her costume was guarded from my eyes by the duffel bag Maggie held, and Emma had enjoyed herself by playing "Let's Surprise Daddy," and not telling me what she was doing for her dance school's annual recital. Which also happened to be Emma's first recital. 

  


Maggie seemed irate as she got in the car, but Emma was all smiles and giggles, telling me about the recital and practically every other dance, but avoiding my questions about hers. I let Maggie stew in her seat while I enjoyed talking with Emma, a smile playing on my lips the whole way to the highschool. After parking, I picked Emma out of the car, letting her settle into my arms, and followed Maggie to a door marked "Dancer's Entrance." Emma squirmed out of my grasp and grabbed my hand, running to the door and stopping just outside of it to talk to a girl her age. I smiled. The two girls giggled. 

  


Maggie rudely stepped in front of me and held a ticket in my face. "I'll meet you in the audience. No fathers are allowed backstage." She was mad- why? Who knew. I took the ticket and stooped down next to Emma. 

  


"Good luck, sweetheart." I took her into a hug, she hugged be back. I planted a kiss on her tiny, rouge laden cheek as I pulled back. "I'm going to be watching from the audience. I can't wait to see this big surprise!" 

  


She giggled and made a show of planting a smacking kiss on my cheek, no doubt staining me with bright red lipstick. "I'm gonna be a star, Daddy!" 

  


"You are a star! You're my star!" I ran my thumb over her face, smiled, and stood. "Good luck, Emma, I'll see you after the show." I turned and walked toward the main entrance. A lump had formed in my throat and I couldn't quite explain why. 

  


As I found my seat in the auditorium I tried to eliminate the lump from my throat. She was only three, and I already felt like I was losing her, like she was growing up too fast. I shifted my thoughts to work, knowing that it was something I could get engrossed in for at least a little while. 

  


The last few moths, hell, the last year, had been an amazing change at work. I moved from the coroners office to the criminalistics department, and I found the work infinitely more interesting, more encompassing, and more fulfilling. I wasn't only helping to catch criminals, I was proving the innocence or guilt of a suspect. The beauty of my job rested in the act that it was all science. The data was empirical. The truth was the truth. And I was finding that. 

  


Maggie was sitting next to me now, talking, but I wasn't really paying much attention to her. Her sour mood had turned me off tonight. I was here to see Emma. The babbling registered somewhere in my consciousness. She was talking about how mobbed it was backstage, how the kids were running around... it was all back ground noise. I just ignored it, adding a head nod here and there. But when she started talking about Emma I started listening. 

  


"She looks so adorable. I hated leaving her back there all by herself..."

  


I cut her of before she can finish, "By herself? Will she be ok?" 

  


She laughed at me. Apparently she wasn't as sour as before. "She'll be fine. There's a class mother watching her. She's not really by herself." I nodded, but the answer barely satisfied me. I saw the smile fade from her face and she looked at the floor. Her mood was back- but there was something different about it. I just stared at her for a second. "Gil? We have to talk."

  


"About?" I don't like this, not at all. There's something foreboding about the way she said it.

  


"Not now," she turned in her seat as the lights faded and music began to reverberate through the speakers. She avoided my gaze. As the young dancers took the stage I retreated to my own thoughts, pulling out a pen and pocket notebook, my mind working out my latest case. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shoved the notebook and pen back in my pocket and sat up, scooting to the edge of my seat as the dancers left the stage. A twangy guitar started pumping through the sound system, and I watched for Emma as the three year old class ran out onto the stage. She was the third from the right as the class of almost fifteen lined up at the foot of the stage. I leaned out into the isle for an unobstructed view. 

  


She was in a fluorescent pink leotard with white flowers printed on it, pink flowers in her curled hair and around her wrists, and a fluorescent green grass skirt around her waist. The picture she made was so adorable I thought I'd burst, that is, until she began to sing along with the pre-recorded voice. 

  


_I'm a little hula, hula baby_

_From the land of Waikiki_

_I can hula and I don't mean maybe_

_Follow me across the sea_

_I dance with my eyes_

_I dance with my lips_

_I dance with my hands _

_And I wiggle my hips_

_I'm a little hula, hula baby_

_From the land of Waikiki_

  


Emma stole my heart. She sang, moving her hands to motions that went with the words, then danced around the stage, doing simple moves. Once, my eye caught her teacher in the wings prompting them with the moves, but only once. Otherwise, Emma had me enthralled. 

  


When they hit their final pose and the music ended, my hands came together almost violently. I couldn't keep the smile or the pride from beaming from my face. It amazed me, and she was wonderful. 

  


As the next dance began, I was still thinking about Emma. She was a beautiful, shining star; on stage and in my life. She was only three, but already forming the kind of person she would be. Smart, beautiful, confident, and simply amazing to me. 

  


The next hour sped by quicky, my mind lost in my daughter, all of the amazing possibilities before her and the person she would be. 

  


The night concluded with a finale, all of the girls on stage and the studio's founder giving a small speech. I found Emma's beautiful face, and found her staring right back at me. The curtains closed all too quickly, and Maggie rushed out, saying she'd meet me at the car with Emma. 

  


I took my time strolling to the car, admiring the stars and thinking of my baby girl. The car ride home was entertaining, as Emma tried to describe everything she did backstage at a mile a minute pace. When we pulled up in front of the house and Maggie quickly got out, pulling the duffel over her shoulder. She bee-lined it for the front door, pulling her keys out on the way. 

  


I shook my head, I had been paying attention to Emma, but I knew something was wrong with Maggie. I just chose to ignore her at this point. I got out and pulled Emma from the back, her mouth still running, trying to tell me something about dancing poodles. I followed Maggie into the house, letting Emma down and shutting the door behind me. 

  


"Coffee Gil?" Came Maggie's shaky voice from the kitchen. 

  


"Sure," I replied. Knots began tying themselves in my stomach. Emma ran through the house to the kitchen, then back to me, telling me not to go anywhere, before she disappeared back to her room. 

  


I sat on the couch, trying to calm my fears. I didn't know what Maggie needed me to talk about, but it couldn't be good. She had been sour and avoiding me all night. This was not good. My reverie was broken by Emma jumping in my lap, a badly wrapped present in her hands. 

  


"This is for you. I wrapped it myself!" She laid me and was beaming, so proud of what she was offering me. 

  


"Thank you!" I said as I took it, "do you want me to open it now?" She nodded. 

  


I pulled off the wrapping and stared at her present. It was a framed picture of her in her hula costume, obviously professional, and completely adorable. I looked down to thank her for it again, but she had fallen asleep against me. She must have been so exhausted that the second she stopped moving she just passed out. 

  


Putting the frame on the coffee table, I lifted her and brought her to her room, quickly changing her into a nightgown and tucking her into bed. As I went to kiss her goodnight I noticed the remnants of the make up still clinging to her baby skin. Suddenly it's too grown up for her and out of place, it doesn't belong there. I went to the bathroom, wet a washcloth, and brought it back to her bedside, gently wiping that garish paint from her face. When it was all gone I kissed her forehead, smoothing away the hair there, and left her to sleep. 

  


I joined Maggie back on the couch in the living room, picking up the mug of coffee she brought me and taking a long drink, wishing that it were something stronger. I had a feeling I could use a little liquid courage for this conversation. 

  


"Gil, I uh, I said before that I needed to talk to you."

  


"Yes." I was gonna let her do this her way. If I knew nothing else about this woman it was that she couldn't be pushed. 

  


"You're not going to like what I have to say, but I've made up my mind and you can't change it. You're free to do what you want, but this is what Emma and I are doing, and you can't change that." I felt like I was going to throw up, her voice was strong, but shaky at the same time. "I'm not taking her away from you, Gil, but this is what we have to do."

  


My heart dropped. 

  


"I got offered a new position in Nevada."

  


No. Please God, no.

  


"Emma and I are moving there in a month."

  
  


(TBC...)

  


A/N: "Hula Baby" is a real song I used to dance to (and practically every baby class at my studio danced to). I don't know anything about it other than the lyrics. Any dance related things from this point on are taken from my own knowledge from my own studio or from stories other dancers have told me. 


	4. Father of Mine, Tell Me Where Have You B...

  


Chapter 4: Father of Mine, Tell Me Where Have You Been?

  


I have become what I've feared the most: an absent father. 

  


The pain wretches in my gut again, the mental anguish's physical representation of my self-disgust. I reach for the Maalox on the table next to me and take a swig right from the bottle, chasing it with some scotch from the glass in my hand. I grimace at the foul taste and chug the rest of the scotch. 

  


Somewhere in the back of my brain I know that this will neither make me feel better physically or mentally, and that it's probably very stupid to be doing. 

  


But all I want to do right now is drink myself into an oblivion. 

  


And find a way to stop my stomach from turning itself in knots. 

  


I missed her call. All I want to do is cry. I told her I would be home, and I missed her call. I slump back into the couch, throwing my arm over my bloodshot eyes, the empty scotch glass still in my hand. My left hand blindly reaches out to the table next to me and hits the play button on my answering machine. I'm going to wear out the tape. I don't care. My eyes well up as her voice fills the room. 

  


"Daddy? Where are you? You said to call you and you'd be home...."

  


She sounds so forlorn, so lost without me to pick up the phone. 

  


"I wanted to tell you about my new babysitter, and my new room. It's blue!"

  


She's so excited, and I wanted to hear about her new babysitter and her new room...

  


"And today Mommy and I made up the guest room, so if you wanted to you could visit and sleep over in there...."

  


I can tell you the Latin and common names for practically every bug on the planet. I can recite several Shakespearean sonnets by heart. I can solve complicated math equations in my head. But I can't keep a damn promise to my daughter. 

  


"Um, I don't know where you are Daddy... but call me tomorrow and I'll tell you all about everyth-"

  


Then she gets cut off by the machine's time limit. 

  


She's in Nevada, I'm in LA. 

  


I'm everything I told myself I would never be. 

  
  


My stomach lurches again, and this time I get up and stumble to the bathroom, making it there just in time to empty my stomach into the toilet. The combination of scotch, Maalox, and roll I forced myself to eat earlier come back up with an ungodly vengeance. I wretch at the toilet until there's nothing left in me. I wretch until my eyes sting with tears, and finally I just lean myself over the toilet and sob in wailing hiccoughs of tears. 

  


I grew up without a father. My memories of him are few and far between. I have one picture of him holding me as a little boy. That's all. 

  


It hurt to grow up without a father. But I dealt with it. I swore I would never do that to any child I had, I swore I would always be there for them any time, anywhere, and love them with every fiber of my being. 

  


I love Emma, I would die for her, but I can't get my damn ass out to Nevada. 

  


The tears fade and my breathing slows. I lean back onto the tub and tip my head back onto the cool porcelain.

  


The day after Maggie told me they were leaving I called my supervisor. All I got for my transfer request was a lecture about how precarious my position was. I was a great Entomologist, but my CSI reputation was still being built, I needed roots to advance. A transfer now could be the end of my career. It was a load of bullshit, but I bought it. I respected him and his opinion as a CSI. I fooled myself into thinking that I could visit her as often as possible- I could start making speaking tours, and see her then. Maybe I could even bring her with me. 

  


For a smart man I'm a bumbling idiot sometimes. 

  


I realized my mistake the day I helped them move, the same day that I had to explain to Emma that I wouldn't be just down the street anymore. The pain in her eyes and her quivering lip were all I needed to tell me that I had made the worst decision of my life. But she was brave. She waved from the moving van and blew me a kiss and even handed me a goodbye present- a picture she drew of me and her. Sure, it was only stick figures, but it was all I had of her anymore. 

  


I haven't gone into her room since she left. I can't face it. 

  


I turned to the one thing I could do. Work. Every hour of every day for the last month I've worked. Unless I told Emma I would be home to call her or receive a call from her. That's her new joy, when Maggie lets her use the phone all by herself to call me. 

  


And I missed her call. 

  


I was at the library preparing for a lecture at Harvard I'm giving next week on Criminalistics as a career. My lecture's going to focus on the beginnings of forensic science and why it's become important. I was doing research on fingerprinting powder when I found that I was going to be late for Emma's call. I left the books where they were, threw my things into the back of my car, in the process scaring several librarians at the pace I rushed out of there, and sped to my apartment, only to hear the beep of the machine as it hung up on my baby girl. I sank to my knees in front of the offending machine, tempted to throw it across the room. 

  


Half a bottle of scotch and a third of a bottle of Maalox later, I'm sitting here. Pathetic, and wholly unfit to be a parent. 

  


Without a reputation I'll never get another CSI job- I'll have to work my way up from the bottom, or worse yet, I may not even be able to find a job as a CSI. That's all I can do now. It's all I know now. My career is moving forward, and I love where it's moving, but it's brought my personal life to a stop. Without a letter of recommendation from my supervisor I'll never find a reputable job, one where I'm as captivated and happy as where I am now. And as much as I'd love to just go out there, I know that the loss of my job as a CSI would be just as devastating to me as this loss- it might manifest in a different way- but I'd never be the same person. 

  


Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

  


Can't be happy either way. 

  


I get up and stumble back to the kitchen, rinse out my mouth, then search my cabinets for something to put in my rumbling stomach. I come up with a granola bar and begin to pick at it, afraid to make a return trip to the bathroom. 

  


Shuffling out of the kitchen, I grab the bottle of scotch in my free hand and take a long swig. I stand in front of her door and just stare. I shove the rest of the granola bar in my mouth and tentatively reach out a hand. The knob turns easily, and the door creeks open. 

  


I'm afraid to go in, I'm afraid to desecrate the shrine I've created. She deserves so much more than my misguided mistakes. She deserves everything I know I'll never be able to give her. 

  


I take a cautious step in and run my eyes over the simple beauty of her room- of her essence. I take a swig of the Scotch and reach out my hand to snatch her rabbit. It no longer smells like her, and it's not as comforting held against me as she is. She calms me, she centers me, she is a reason for being when I think there's nothing left. 

  


I fucked that up. 

  


I drop to my knees in front of the alter that her bed makes, and bury my face in her rabbit. The scotch slips from my hand and tips over on the carpet, spilling out and staining her light rug. How appropriately metaphorical, me leaving a stain on the thing I worship most. Maybe I'm destined to always screw up. 

  


The tears come again, but this time quiet and streaming. 

  


I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise. 

  


I'm sorry I couldn't keep any of them. 

  
  



	5. Stripped Down

  


Chapter 5: Stripped Down

  


"No, Dr. Grissom, we're actually actively looking for new members- especially for our night shift team," Sheriff Brian Mobley explained. "Some labs would be happy to have their status as the number fourteen lab in the country, but we're looking to move up."

  


As he continued to ramble on about how big Las Vegas is and the need for a highly effective criminalistics department, I tried to keep the blatant surprise and disgust off of my face. For three months now I've been talking to my supervisor in LA, asking if he knew of any place in Nevada in need of CSIs, if he could make some calls, and he's been flat out lying to me. 

  


In fact, when he called me and told me the LVMPD needed a hand with Entomology on one of their cases, he explicitly said that he'd spoken with the sheriff and that there were no jobs available, even for a CSI level 3, and that it probably wasn't a good idea to mention I was the one looking for the job, the sheriff had sounded aggravated. That sorry son-of-a-bitch was lying to me. 

  


It was, in fact, Sheriff Mobley who had come to me, asking if we could talk in his office for a few minutes seeing as I had some time on my hands. He's spent the last hour trying to woo me away from LA. He falls silent and I see that he's expecting me to say something. "I'm sorry, I was lost in thought there for a second. You've given me quite a lot to think about. Can you repeat what you just said?"

  


He gives me a small smile. "I just asked if our lab had caught your interest; if you might consider my offer." No thought is necessary, I've been pondering something like this for the last three months. 

  


I stand and offer my hand to the Sheriff, "Sheriff Mobley, I would love to be a part of your night shift." 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


We spent almost two hours working out the finer details of my move before I had to excuse myself to look in on my bugs. Even as I was returning to my only passion of late I found that my mind was on the letter of resignation that I was going to write. Good thing I'll be writing it when I get home, the amount of obscenity I want to put into it now would probably even turn a sailor's face red. 

  


Trying to let my blood pressure drop, I settle into the familiarity of insects. Each specimen comes out and is noted for its stage of maturity. Over and over again, I do this with every bug I took from the corpse. 

  


I'm just about done when Detective Jim Brass sticks his head in the door of the layout room they've let me use. The round man speaks in gruff tones, one liners coming out fast and furious, but he seems like a man I could relate to. Why, I'm not sure, but I feel as though he's not quite as jaded as many of the detectives I work with back in LA. "Dr. Grissom?" he asks before completely entering. I nod my head and he enters. "I was wondering if you'd want to come with me, do some footwork, see what we can find out?" 

  


"Sure. Just give me a second to finish up." I point to the jars of beatles, and he cringes in response, taking a reflexive step back. I think he forgot they were in here. The human response to insects has always fascinated me. I smile just a little. 

  


"I'll uh-" The unease is obvious in his voice, and I struggle not to laugh, "I'll meet you in the break room." As he rushes out the door I allow a laugh to escape, and turn back to recording data on the last insect. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Dream Dolls was a run down dive from the look of the outside. Cars lined it's parking lot, though, and as we walked in the front it was obvious that more than a few gentlemen enjoyed the show. Detective Brass bullied our way in, threatening the owner with various code violations to be allowed in to talk to the dancer. We were finally escorted in and allowed to stand in the back by the bar while we waited for her to get a brake.

  


Dark except for a few colored strobe lights on the stage and blue lights illuminating the bar, the club looked little better inside. Music blared through huge speakers in the corners, pounding in my chest. The main attraction, of course, was not the atmosphere, but the half-naked women on the stage in the center of the room that also boasted poles at either end. Detective Brass turned to me and shouted over the din as I continued my scan of the room.

  


"Our dancer up there," he pointed to the stage where a petite red head was making her way down one of the poles, "was the first on the scene. She and her newly wed husband live in the apartment complex, she was taking the trash out and found the body in the ally." 

  


I was aware of this, of course. I had read the reports and knew that the twenty year old stripper by the name of Catherine Willows had found the dismembered body in the dumpster behind her apartment, and claimed to have no knowledge about it. Although interviews are usually helpful, I wasn't too keen on making this one. The few times I've had to deal with the "dance" industry in LA I've had to speak with people who seem to barely have a second grade education, and getting information has been like pulling teeth. Overall a very aggravating experience. 

  


"You think she knows something?" I yell to Det. Brass. He looks at me with a blank stare.

  


"About the murder? No. But she seems to know a lot about what goes on at the apartment complex, so maybe she'd notice anything suspicious." He shrugged and leaned against the wall.

  


After a few more minutes of mind-numbing and gratuitous displays of flexibility and sexuality, Catherine Willows slinked off stage and over to the bar. The men gave cat calls as the DJ announced her exit, "Let's hear it for our very own Pussy Cat!" before announcing the next act. The bartender handed her a towel and bottle of water, which she promptly gulped down, oblivious to the hungry looks the customers were giving her, seeing her off stage. 

  


She was relatively healthy looking, and muscular for her size. Her red hair hung in waves at her shoulders, and a headband with two triangular cat ears kept her hair out of her eyes. Her light skin contrasted the black sequined push-up bra and thong she wore. As she moved the cat tail attached to her thong swung back and forth. The bar tender pointed toward us and she nodded, whispering something to him before she began to move. The incredibly high heels she wore caused the muscles in her legs to ripple as she moved toward us. 

  


She stopped about three feet away, posed and crooked a finger at us, signaling to follow her. I tipped my head at her, knowing yelling would be useless. She just smiled and turned. I swear she swayed her hips a little more than necessary as she walked in front of us, taking us behind the stage to the hallway that held the girls' dressing rooms. 

  


I felt the unfamiliar stirring of attraction deep in my stomach. She was good looking, and manipulative. But she was married, and I was a good ten years her senior. Two very good reasons not to lust after this young stripper. Third was she was part of the investigation. I pushed those feelings away, willing myself to ignore them as Det. Brass began to talk with her. From the first worlds out of her mouth I knew she was going to be a very different experience from my usual interactions with strippers. 

  


"How can I help you, Detective?" She grabbed the towel she was carrying and slung it around her neck, holding on at both ends.

  


"Mrs. Willows, we need to know a few things about how you found the body." Det. Brass said, detached. I could see her eyeing me, looking me up and down. Flattering, but slightly uncomfortable, I decided this was the time to open my mouth. 

  


"Like how you even knew to look for it."I eyed her back, but this time with the glare I reserved for suspects, not perspective love interests. "Your statement said that you had to dig through garbage to get to it; specifically two large bags of garbage and a cardboard box that was flat and covered the body."

  


"There was blood." She looked at me like I should know what she meant. She wasn't getting off that easy. 

  


"By my estimation the body had been there at least 5 days, if not more. There wasn't any visible blood at the scene." Even the Vegas CSIs had apparently had trouble finding out what was blood spatter and what was dried ketchup. There was no way a twenty year old stripper knew to look for blood. 

  


"Dried blood stains on the inside of the dumpster. Like I told the detective, I knew that Mrs. Anderson's cat in 4B had been missing, I saw the blood, wondered if the cat had somehow gotten in there and went digging."

  
  


Det. Brass spoke up this time, "Mrs. Willows, even our CSIs had trouble telling the blood from the ketchup."

  


"If there's anything I know, it's blood. I'm going to school to become a hematologist." Our stares must have looked slightly surprised. Ok, maybe more that slightly surprised. She got a flabbergasted look on her face before continuing, "You don't think I want to do this for the rest of my life, do you?" She threw her hands in the air. Then she stopped and calmed herself down with a few deep breaths. "Sorry, it's just that sometimes, this gets to me, you know? Everyone makes assumptions about what kind of a person you are just because you dance, and here I am trying to work my way through school with Eddie out of work and...." She looked up and stopped, a smile on her features. "Sorry. Anything else you want to know?"

  


I was now officially mentally, but not sexually, intrigued by this young woman who was paving her was as a stripper. I smiled at her and spoke, "Well, Mrs. Willows, as a hematologist, did you notice anything about the blood that might help us?" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


The young Mrs. Willows could offer us no more observations about the blood, but did give us some solid information about the residents of her apartment complex, and gave us the name of three young women from the building that she hasn't seen in a while that she used to see on a regular basis. Probably not a lead, but more than we had before. 

  


Before we left I asked her what she intended to do with her degrees when she graduated. She said she wasn't sure, but lately it looked like she might not be able to graduate on time as her husband had lost his job and money was tight. I pulled out one of my cards and gave it to her, saying that I was transferring to the LVMPD in about two weeks, and would be working the night shift. I told her to give me a call after she graduated, and I'd see what could do about getting her a job. 

  


Thinking about it as I drove to Maggie's, it probably wasn't the best decision. Who knows if I'll have any pull at all when I get here, never mind enough to get an ex-stripper a job. Technically she was still a suspect in the investigation, and her back ground was a it shaky, but she had a sharp mind, and she was determined. 

  


The thoughts faded quickly though, and the half hour ride out of Vegas to Maggie's few by. Though not convenient, I had asked Maggie if I could stay with them during my time here in Nevada. I have been without the most precious part of my existence for far too long, and I knew that every second I was in Vegas would be torture if I couldn't go back at the end of the shift and see her. 

  


Even though I've been working various and sundry hours with the CSI crew at the LVMPD, Emma has attached herself to me when I'm in the house. For the most part I've been pulling the night shift hours and spilling over into the day shift; it's allowed me to get to know the crew I'll soon be working with- and they're a great group of people. The day shift supervisor, Conrad Ecklie, I'm not so sure of, though. Seems he's a little too interested in his career instead of the cases. 

  


But when I'm home Emma's become inseparable from me, something I'm quite fond of for now. She's shown me her new pool, and how she blows up her own swimmies to go swimming. She's shown me her new room, and how she plays memory, and the ant colony she found in the back yard. That sparked a three hour lesson on bugs. She was captivated, and I was in heaven. We hunted through the yard, and I taught her all I could about the bugs we found. She's designated the ants as her favorites, though she can't really explain why. I mentally noted to talk to Maggie about getting her an ant farm, though it won't be easy to convince her. 

  


Tonight is the first night that I've come home later than noon. I pulled almost twenty hours today cataloging the insects and tracing time of death back to six days. 

  


I pull up in front of the ranch style house and stumble over the lawn to the front door. More than anything I just want to sleep until my pager goes off; when Detective Brass notifies me that they've got our suspect in custody and all I have to do is sign my name on the x and enjoy my last three days in Vegas with my daughter. 

  


I pull the key Maggie gave me from my pocket and make my way into the dark and quiet house. I drop my briefcase and suit jacket and make my way to the guest room that Emma had ranted to me about. The few hours of sleep I've gotten in the last few days have been restful in the scarcely decorated room. The knowledge that Emma is only a few feet down the hall instead of a thousand miles away soothes my restless nerves and lets me finally not only sleep, but truly rest. 

  


I grab my pajama pants and t-shirt from the chair by the door without even turning on the lights and quickly change and ready for bed in the bathroom. Going down the hall a bit further I sneak into Emma's room, intending to kiss her goodnight and just check on her as I've always been accustomed to. My breath catches in my chest when I see the moon-lit bed is empty. 

  


I panic for a moment. 

  


Then I hear her voice, and my racing pulse begins to slow. 

  


"Daddy?"

  


I turn around to find her standing in the doorway to my room, rubbing her eyes. "Where were you sweetheart?"

  


I walk to her and swing her up into my arms, kissing her cheek as she lays her sleepy head on my shoulder. "Mommy said I could wait for you in the guest room when you didn't come home after dinner." She yawns and buries her head in my neck. My hand goes to her head, holding her close to me and smoothing down her wild hair. "Daddy?" 

  


"Yes dear?" I'm so comfortable like this, right now. I feel the balance she brings to me, something I never knew I needed until it was missing. 

  


"Can I sleep in your bed tonight? I missed you."

  


A smile spread across my face as I bean walking into my room. "Of course."

  


"But don't tell Mommy," she whispers conspiratorially, "She says I have to be a big girl and sleep by myself."

  


"It'll be our little secret." I kiss her again and sit down in the bed with her still in my arms. Her eyes are drooping and she's almost back to sleep. I put her down then lie next to her, watching her drift off. 

  


Before I follow behind her, she works her way over to me in her sleep, snuggling against me and latching on for dear life. Gingerly I wrap her in my arms. Contented, sleep is not far off. 

  


It's no longer only a short visit. In a few weeks I'll be back here for good. I can feel the relief washing over me in waves, the tension sliding away finally replaced by hope that I'm not the horrible father I see myself as in the depths of my mind. 

  


Emma still loves me, and whatever damage has been done can be fixed. I'm sure of that now. 

  


I can't wait to tell her in the morning, to see her face, when I say that I'm moving to Las Vegas and I'll be just a car ride away instead of a plane ride. 

  


A new town, a new job, and a new beginning for me. 

  


For the first time in months my dreams are sweet, and I don't dread waking up in the morning. 


	6. Can You Keep a Secret?

Chapter 6: Can You Keep a Secret?

  


"Again!" 

  


Emma's outburst roused me from the light sleep I was in, her jumping on the couch shaking me back to mental awareness. "What sweetheart?" 

  


She tipped her head to the side and got a cute, frustrated look on her face. "You fell asleep Daddy!" Emma points a finger at me then pokes me in my chest. I try and paint a hurt look on my face tinted with mock horror. 

  


"I fell asleep! No!" She laughs at me, and then turns to lie across my chest and look up into my face. "You want to watch it again, Emma?"

  


"Yup!" She pronounces proudly. "But YOU have to stay awake this time Daddy!" 

  


"Ok, ok!" I lift her off of me and walk over to the brand new videocassette recorder, bought specifically for this purpose, and hit the rewind button. Maggie had warned me that she watched this video practically three times a day. I didn't think it was possible. I walk to the kitchen to make us a quick lunch of sandwiches while the video rewinds. She sits on the couch and picks up the video's box, humming to herself. 

  


I had fully intended to watch the movie with her, but last night Brass had called with a break in the case we were working. Even though it was my night off I was compelled to go in and work. We'd closed the case, but now I was exhausted. Emma's presence had calmed me as per usual, and I had fallen asleep on the couch, not even making it through the opening credits.

  


"Daddy, the tape's wound!" She shouts from the living room. I pick up the dish of sandwiches, tuck two glasses under my arm, and grab the carton of milk with the other hand. Making my way back, I hit the play button with my elbow before settling next to Emma on the couch. 

  


She picks up a sandwich and starts munching as I watch her. The apartment is small, cramped, and even less pleasing to me than my last one. The only difference is that this one is in Nevada, a mere fifteen minutes from Emma's home. Her room here is no where near as spectacular as her old one. The only thing that remains from that room are the Winnie the Pooh prints and her framed lithograph. She doesn't seem to mind, though. 

  


"Daddy!" She pats my arm. She's caught me looking at her again. "You said you'd watch the movie!" Frustration shows on her young face, and I have to hold back my laughter. She really has no idea how precious she is to me. 

  


"Sorry Emma. I'll pay attention." I lift my sandwich up to my mouth and look at the bright cartoon on my television. The words "An American Tail" flit across the screen. Emma hums with the songs and mouths the words under her breath. I watch her more than I watch the movie. My soul has become contented again. The Las Vegas Crime Lab is a challenge, and Emma is a daily visitor to my humble apartment. I feel whole again. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

"Grissom, you got a minute?" I'm tempted to correct Brass' grammar as he pokes his head into the break room, but think better of it and just nod my head. He motions for me to follow him, so I put my crossword puzzle down and follow him to his office. He'd been promoted to the supervisor of the night shift only a few weeks before my arrival, and my previous experience with him helped my transition into the team go a little smoother. The rest of my collegues seemed to respect him as much as I've come to. 

  


I take a seat in his office in front of his desk, while he sits behind it. He's become a good friend here, letting me in about the secrets of "Sin City" while I'm still getting acquainted with it. He seems to squirm behind the desk, so I smile a little and talk first. "What's going on?"

  


"Uh... Grissom, the Sheriff wanted me to make you aware of a case we had a while back." He was wringing his hands and wouldn't look me in the eye. I knew something was up.

  


"Ok." I sit back into the chair and prompt him to continue. 

  


"One of our CSIs, his name was Miller, he was sloppy at a crime scene." Brass seemed to get more and more uncomfortable with each word. 

  


It's not unheard of for things to go wrong at a crime scene, or for even a CSI to lose his head for a second and contaminate evidence. In fact, I've done it myself more than once. Sloppiness can also come with age; my supervisor in California started assigning young recruits with him so he could blame his mistakes on them. That ended quickly, along with his job. The name seemed familiar to me, though, and seeing Brass squirm in his chair I knew that this couldn't be just a simple story of caution. "Wasn't I hired to replace Miller?"

  


"Yeah, yeah you were." He cleared his throat. "He, uh, he slipped up at a crime scene. While he was working he started to get personal. He wasn't being unprofessional. He was just processing the scene, but his mouth was running, ya know? And it wasn't even something he should have been hiding, or afraid to talk about..." I saw a sadness cross over his eyes for a second before he continued with the story. "Anyway, the case was about a serial killer- killed kids, teens, found out when we caught him it was because he had been tormented in school when he was young. But Miller didn't know any of that when he was processing the scene. In the crowd surrounding the scene our killer had come back, and he listened to Miller tell Hawkins about his ten year old daughter's gymnastic's competition."

  


My breath caught in my throat, there was only one obvious conclusion to this story, and I didn't want to think that it was possible. I waited for Brass to take a deep breath and finish, but my breaths were coming harder and faster. 

  


"Miller resigned, moved out of state. Jessica's remains were so mutilated that they decided to have her cremated." His words were barely above a whisper. He swatted tears from his eyes. "Uh, since then the whole lab's been very detached about their job and home life. They've become strictly separated here. It's just kind of understood that it's better this way."

  


For the first time since I've walked into his office, he looks me in the eyes. "Grissom, between you, me, and the wall, Mobley's looking to shape up this office. Our CSIs and lab techs are either ready for retirement or just not getting the job done anymore. You're the beginning of a lot of changes here, and when new people come in, you're the one they're going to look to for guidance about how to behave, how to do their jobs. How to act in the office..." he paused, "And on the scene."

  


He wasn't looking at me again, and I knew he had more to say, but all I wanted to do was run home to Emma, pick her up, hold her in my arms, and never let anyone else near her. I was getting antsy in my chair, but forced myself to stay for whatever else he had to say. 

  


"I know you have a daughter, Grissom, and I know that she's not living with you, but I can tell you from experience that I know that doesn't mean you don't love her any less. The Sheriff seems to think that it would be best for all concerned if..."

  


"If I do what, Jim?" My heart is pounding in my chest. 

  


"If you keep her existence quiet. Totally disassociate your home self and your work self. He wants you to be a shining example to the incoming CSIs." He leans forward. My heart is still pounding, I don't know what to think of this yet. "I, personally, think that this is going way beyond what is necessary. But maybe it's not such a bad idea either, though. What happened... it was horrible, and devastating, and an isolated incident. But none of us would ever forgive ourselves if it happened again."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I pulled up outside of Maggie's house and rushed out of the car. She should be up, they both should be up. I can't stop the panic rising from in my chest, it's making my heart race and my breath catch. I ran to the door and tried to use my key, but my hands were shaking. The door swung open, making me jump back. 

  


"Gil? What's wrong?" Maggie's standing in the doorway, her eyes filled with concern as she steps out on the porch and puts her cool hands around my trembling ones. 

  


"Where's Emma?" The fear in my eyes must be palpable, she can sense that something is very wrong. She quietly leads me inside the house to Emma's room, where I can see from the doorway that she's sleeping. It takes fighting every fiber of my being to not run and scoop her into my arms. 

  


"She's coming down with a cold. I decided it would be better to let her sleep." Maggie grabs my hand and leads me back out to the living room. "I would have dropped her off with you just like I always do, you know that, right?" She sits down next to me on her couch, my hands still enfolded in hers. "Gil, what's wrong?"

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


"Daddy! I wanna watch Fifuh!"

  


Emma's congested voice floats to my ears. I stand from my desk, flipping over the text to hold my page, before heading to sit on the couch where she's made herself comfortable for the day. I tuck the blanket up around her, covering her Lady Lovely Locks pajamas, and push an errant strand from her eyes, surreptitiously feeling her head for any lingering fever. 

  


"You want to watch Fivel? You've already watched it today!" 

  


"But I want to see it again!" I don't. I make a mental note to buy her another video. Or maybe ten. Anything has to be better than Fivel. It's a good movie, but not that good. Watching it three times a day can't be good for her, especially when she's sick and has nothing better to do. 

  


Her discarded coloring book sits on the coffee table, and I deftly avoid crushing a cerulean blue crayon into the rug with some fancy footwork. I sit next to her and pick up her juice cup and hold it in my lap, seeing that it will need refilling after we settle this. "Why don't we watch Sesame Street? It should be on soon."

  


"Can I still watch Fifuh later?" I pick up a tissue and hold it to her nose so she can blow out some of the congestion. She does, I softly wipe the reddened skin, then crumple it in my hand to throw out in the kitchen. I really have to teach her that the movie's title is not "Fivel."

  


"Maybe." I stand, and I see her pout beginning to form. She's only recently discovered that "maybe" quite often means "no." Looks like I'll be getting into more battles of wills from now on. Her pout takes a quick turn and she smiles up at me. "Will you watch Sessame Stweet with me?" 

  


"Of course." I stand and place a quick peck on her head, another covert attempt to gage her temperature. I never really understood how my mother could so easily tell if I had a temperature until now. It's just something you know. Instead of feeling cool and wonderful, her skin burns my touch. It's like a siren screaming that something is wrong with her. "I'll be right back."

  


I flip on the television on my way into the kitchen and look at the clock. Not quite late enough for another dose of the children's Tylenol yet, so I settle for soaking a paper towel with cool water to put on her forehead. I rinse out her cup and head to the fridge to pull out the juice, but I stop for a second, staring at her picture that smiles back at me. 

  


It's the picture I used to keep in my locker. 

  


I pull out the orange juice and pour some out. Maggie had listened to me tell the story Brass had told me when I had rushed to her house after the meeting two days ago. She'd listened, and comforted me with her shared concern for Emma's safety. Though I guess in the back of my mind I'd always known that something like that was a remote possibility, the very fact that it had happened in this city, to one of Brass' colleagues, made it a very real threat to our daughter. 

  


Maggie had agreed with me that discretion was the best answer, even if it seemed overprotective. No calls during work hours, even about Emma, unless it was an emergency. I took all of my pictures of her from work, and survived with only one hidden in the back of my wallet in lieu of the veritable photo album I usually carried. The car seat would stay at home and not in my car from now on, unless Emma was in it, of course. She was more open to the separation of my home and work selves than I thought she would be. For now, it was working out. 

  


At home, I am who I always have been. At work, I've become a bit more closed off, more skeptical, and more analytical. So far, this hasn't been a bad thing. They've already started moving the shifts around, our new fingerprint tech, Jacqui, is competent and pleasant. Besides, she makes the best jokes about Ecklie. 

  


My rumination is cut short by Emma's cough, followed by her demand that I hurry because Big Bird is already looking for Sesame Street. The familiar music is wafting through the apartment now, and I wash my hands and put the juice away.

  


I join her on the couch, and she climbs into my lap before I can even put the juice down. I slowly slip the cool cloth around the back of her neck. She shivers a little under my fingers, so I pull the blanket on the couch over the both of us. 

  


I pull her close to me as Big Bird tells Oscar the Grouch that his favorite color is blue. He then turns to the camera and asks what "our" favorite color is. Emma says purple, I say green, and we both smile as Big Bird says that those are very pretty colors.

  


She watches quietly for a while. Then, while The Count is singing about bats, she squeaks out, "Daddy, I still want to watch Fifuh."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Gil, how are things going, if you know what I mean?" Brass falls in step with me in the hallway. I look up at him from my file. I know exactly what he means. And he knows just how much his story affected my behavior. 

  


"Good." I don't know if he's trying to trap me, or trying to be my friend. I haven't found a balance in that department yet, especially with him. He looks at me like I'm not telling him something, so I stop and turn to him. 

  


"Jim, can you keep a secret?" I huff out. He looks interested and moves closer, nodding that he can. I tip my head at him. 

  


"Yeah," he reaffirms and looks at me expectantly. 

  


"Good. So can I." I smile at him before I walk away. I hear his laughter echo down the hallway. Seems as though I do have a friend here after all. 


	7. Fears

Chapter 7: Fears

  


I can hear Emma's crying from the driveway and my heart skips a beat. I rush up to the house and throw my key in the lock, bursting in. Emma's curled up in the lounge chair, her face red and tears flowing down her face like rivers. Maggie's standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her eyes furious. This scene is unfamiliar to me, but I only have a few seconds to analyze it before Emma sees me and charges for my legs. 

  


Maggie had called me while I was on my way here to pick Emma up for the weekend, which includes a visit to the dentist. Emma's sobs flew through the phone to my ears and I could only think the worst, precluding me from hearing any of what Maggie was trying to say as I put the pedal to the floor and flew here. I'm still confused as Emma attaches herself to my legs and begins pleading with me, her words caught up in her crying and indecipherable. 

  


Maggie walks over and starts to talk over Emma, the din they're making is quickly becoming unbearable. I hold up a hand to Maggie and crouch down to Emma, pulling my handkerchief from my pocket and wiping her eyes and nose gently. 

  


"What's wrong Emma?" Her crying has been reduced to a pathetic whimper, and the fiery red splotches seem to be retreating from her skin. I run a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face, and let my hand rest on her shoulder. 

  


"I don't wanna go to the Dentist!" With each word I can feel her frustration building again, and before I can even say anything I hear Maggie behind me. 

  


"Emma, you cannot argue your way out of this one- you have to go!"

  


Emma's tears well up again and I throw my hand up behind me again, dismissing Maggie and keeping my eyes glued to Emma. She looks up at her mother, then pushes into my arms, surprising me and throwing me slightly off balance with the force she has in her small body. She's pleading with me again, her words lost in her crying. 

  


I lift Emma into my arms and turn to Maggie. I can't fathom what she could have said to work Emma up into such a tantrum. Truth be told, I've never even seen Emma half as worked up as this, never mind throw a tantrum. This knowledge only makes me more upset, sure that Maggie is the cause of our daughter's temper. I must look as upset as I feel, because all I have to do is look at Maggie and she shrinks away a bit, but right away she regroups and stands up to me. 

  


I rub a calming hand on Emma's back, knowing that this could get even uglier than it already is very quickly. "What's going on Maggie?" I try to ask her as calmly as possible. 

  


"She threw a fit! I told her we were going to the dentist today and she threw a fit. She has to go to the dentist!" Maggie crosses her arms over her chest and waits for me to try to argue that point. I can't. Emma does have to go to the dentist. But something's wrong- Emma wouldn't throw a tantrum about _just_ going to the dentist. 

  


I turn to Emma and softly but firmly ask her why she doesn't want to go to the dentist. She sniffles a bit. "Because I'm scared it'll hurt."

  


I look at Maggie. She shoots me a look that says I'm wasting my time. I roll my eyes at her before turning back to Emma. "What makes you think it will hurt?" She buries her head into my shoulder and mutters once again that she doesn't want to go. I lift her chin and look at her pointedly. "Emma? Why do you think it will hurt?"

  


She looks down and wrings her hands. "Katie, at kindergarten, she went to the dentist. Katie D., not Katie B. And she said that her doctor told her he was just gonna look at her teeth, but then he gave her a shot in her mouth and put a drill in her mouth and she said it hurt and she cried and her mommy wouldn't make him stop." Through her rambled story her face returned to it's flaming red and tears welled in her eyes again. 

  


I looked at Emma, then turned a glare to Maggie. She just threw up her hands and left the room, "She's all yours Gil, since you seem to know ALL of the answers!" A few seconds later I heard the slamming of the door and her car engine roaring to life. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Emma Grissom?" The young brunette called through the door she was holding open. Emma looked up at me expectantly and I nodded to her, standing and offering her my hand. I smiled at the young woman, and she ushered us into the office and showed Emma to a large blue dentist's chair and sat me on a stool at it's foot. I smiled at Emma as the young woman draped a napkin across Emma's clothes. 

  


As the doctor walked in I saw Emma tense up. I stood to shake his hand as he introduced himself to me, and told him that we were "a little nervous." He sat down in his chair and faced Emma. 

  


"Hello Emma, I'm Dr. Scott Brians. You're a little nervous?" Emma nodded her head. "Well, why don't we just show you everything we're going to use today?" He pulled over his rolling tray and Emma sat up higher in her chair. "See these? This is all I'm gonna use. If it's not on here, it won't go in your mouth. Oh, and this," He reached to the side of the cart and pulled up the mechanical toothbrush. "It makes a loud noise, but it doesn't hurt." He smiled at her, and then she smiled back. 

  


A smile even pulls at my lips. After Maggie left we had a nice long talk. We talked about being afraid and facing fears. We also talked about what it's like to go to the dentist and why everyone needs to go. Her tears and sniffles subsided as she promised me that if she was ever afraid or nervous about anything again she'd talk to me instead of getting upset. Emma, at just under five years old, as already facing her fears. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I rub my hands over my eyes again, and push back to rest in my chair. I'm not getting anything done. Something about the way Maggie's been acting doesn't make any sense. Maggie and Emma had grown so close for a while, but now they're in constant battles of wills. Emma seems to call me every day that I'm not with her. Though I don't mind it, and even welcome hearing her voice, I know that she turns to me because she's having trouble with her mother. Sometimes it's simply telling Emma that she shouldn't have cookies before bed, or can be as complicated as explaining death when she forgot to feed her ants and they died. My mind can't concentrate on the files in front of me, it only flashes back through the last year. Emma and Maggie arguing over the dentist, Emma calling more and more to stay with me, Maggie asking to leave her with me for long weekends. 

  


There's something I'm not being told, and I don't like it. This has happened only a few times before like when Maggie was pregnant and when she told me they were moving to Nevada, but that knowledge causes fear in me. 

  


"Hey Boss," Catherine pokes her head in my office and interrupts my train of thought. The stripper come wiz lab tech has been bugging me for weeks to take her out into the field.

  


"Yes?" I turn towards her. 

  


"I was wondering- hey, you don't look so good." She walks all the way into my office. She's one of the few people around here who seems to be on a comfort level with my somewhat closed-off personality. She's often not only just barged in here to demand to be taken out into the field, but has even made it a point to try to get to know me, and to tell me about herself. I think she's growing tired of my cryptic answers, but there's no reason she should know more about me than is necessary. I've amazingly been able to keep Emma a secret from her curious questions.

  


"Uh..." I stall for time, "Migraine." She should believe that. I do get them, and this train of thought will produce one sooner or later. 

  


"Oh, ok." She lowers her voice "I was just wondering if you'd come look at something for me. Something's not adding up." She's slowly backing up, ready to let herself out. 

  


"I'll be there in a few minutes Catherine." She slowly slinks out of my office and I wonder, not for the first time, if she realizes how transparent she is about her marital problems, especially the ones she hasn't yet talked about. I don't know what they specifically are, but she acts like she's constantly walking on eggshells now. She hardly resembles the strong woman she once was. 

  


I sadly realize that I see the same fear I feel in my heart in her eyes. 

  


Closing the folder in front of me I get up and head down the hall to the lab. Next week is Emma's seventh birthday party. If I don't find out what it is then, I'm just going to have to talk to Maggie.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


The smile on my mother's face when Emma signed "hello grandmother" was priceless. 

  


Since moving out to Vegas four years ago, this was the first time Emma's seen her grandmother and been old enough to know it. I've been preparing Emma for months now, telling her how my mother was special and that we'd have to use a special language to speak with her. Emma soaked up the ASL that I was able to teach her, even if it was a bit sloppy. 

  


Sitting at a picnic table in Maggie's back yard, I allow the two most important women in my life to converse in their special way while I survey the scene. Maggie did a beautiful job setting up the streamers and birthday decorations. The large yard, with it's almost green grass and small inflatable pool, is happy and inviting. Emma's friends from school and their parents fill the yard with conversation and laughter. 

  


When we came in Emma ran over to us, hair in ringlets and clad in a baby blue dress, she was the picture of beauty. After a hug she ran to her friends to tell them she would be back, then planted herself in my lap at the picnic table and began to show my mother all the signs she knew. 

  


The sheer beauty of the scene pulled at my heart, and it killed me inside to realize that I was not here with them all day setting up as a father should be, but rather arrived more like a party guest. 

  


Though I wasn't paying attention to their conversation, every once in a while Emma would tap my shoulder and ask me to show her a sign, then would turn back to my mother. I had hoped to search out Maggie, but she's been keeping busy entertaining and brushed off my offer for help earlier. 

  


Emma tapped my shoulder again and whispered in my ear, "How do I say 'ant farm'?" I smiled down at her, and moved my hands out in front of her. I watch the conversation for a few minutes and realize that Emma's bragging about my birthday gift to her. Maggie finally broke down and allowed me to get her the ant farm she's wanted for years. A smile spreads across my face as I push the sadness that had covered my heart away. Even if it's only for a few minutes, I am in complete bliss.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I'm faintly aware of a car door closing as I wrap the pink towel around Emma as she emerges from the pool. I swing her up into my arms and carry her to the table at the front of the yard where Maggie's placed the cake I made and all of Emma's presents. The dozen other wet kids run behind me, their parents trying to get them to take towels or at least put their shoes on, as I settle Emma behind the table, my mother in a place of honor beside her. 

  


As the rousing chorus of shouting six and seven year olds sing "Happy Birthday," I see Maggie out of the corner of my eye. She's greeting a young, good looking man at the gate to the backyard with a semi-passionate kiss. I can feel my stomach drop like I'm on a roller coaster, but I turn my attention back to Emma. She blows the candles out and Maggie's sister takes the cake from in front of her to cut it into pieces for the demanding children. 

  


Emma begins ripping into her presents, gushing over a Barbie doll, as my mother pats my hand to get my attention. She signs "who is that?" as her eyes direct me to Maggie and the man she has her arms around. Before I can reply that I don't know, Emma turns and quickly signs "Mother boyfriend." 

  


My mother's jaw drops, as does mine. After opening another present, Emma turns to us and quickly but deliberately signs D-O-N before she goes back to open another present. 

  


(TBC...)

  
  


A/N: This chap. is for Rosa- who is my best cheerleader on the Grissom/Sara mailing list! ;) Never been someone's favorite author before! 


	8. The Green Eyed Monster and the Brown Eye...

Chapter 8: The Green Eyed Monster and the Brown Eyed Girl

  


Her name was Sara Sidle, and for a minute she made me forget my shortcomings. 

  


From the minute the words came out of her mouth, I knew she would be different from the other students that I'd met: I knew she would one day be a damn good CSI. I met her at the Harvard lecture I gave last week. 

  


The introduction of this amazing young woman into my life turned out to be a breaking point for me. Since Emma's revelation about Maggie, I'd thrown myself into my work with even more vengeance than before, making sure I was available only to my daughter. Maggie introduced me to Don, the successful Wall Street banker out here to start his own investment firm, and had tried to explain why she'd kept him a secret from me for almost a year, but I was too upset to want to hear any of it. 

  


Don's existence meant that I had been, or eventually would be, replaced. 

  


Though Emma's calls to me were still as frequent as they had been before, they now also included stories of the things she did with "Mom and Don." It crushed my heart every time he would do something that made her happy, something I felt I should be doing. 

  


In the end, I had come to realize that Maggie had been right in hiding her relationship from both Emma and me. She hadn't wanted Emma to get attached to someone who wouldn't be in her life very long. I can only guess that she had anticipated what my reaction would be. That doesn't mean to say that it hurt any less. 

  


Emma is blissfully unaware that every time Don buys her a stuffed animal "because he was thinking of her," that he's really trying to lure her affections away from me. Maggie has even begun to ask him to pick her up from school and have him accompany her to her ballet classes when she can't get away from work, tasks, though menial, that used to be mine. My sadness was only assuaged when Emma demanded that I be the only one allowed to take her to the dentist. 

  


While the whole situation has only succeeded in making me retreat deeper into myself, I have a small flicker of hope that Emma is on my side in all of this. She has not once canceled a day with me, though Maggie and Don have repeatedly tried to bribe her with trips and movies. Emma even traded a brand new Barbie Don gave her to a boy at school for a can of worms. Now that's my girl. 

  


But even for all of Emma's efforts, it's painfully obvious that they're trying to keep her from me. This means that Maggie's breaking the only promise that ever meant anything in my life. 

  


My work soon became my reason for everything, it was all I had left that made me feel useful, it was all that was left besides her that could illicit any kind of spark of humanity in me. I saw myself becoming even more withdrawn and quiet than I had been in years, retreating to my old high school tricks of becoming a ghost to avoid social interaction. 

  


It is so much easier to just shut down than to have to deal. Shut people out, deal with them only on the surface, and make your life as uncomplicated and basic as you need it to be. My life consisted of Emma and my work.

  


I feared more than anything that it would soon no longer include Emma.

I still wasn't happy, and it wasn't a life, but it was an existence.

  


There weren't many constants in that area of my life anymore, either. New staff and interns were streaming into the LVMPD at a rate I could hardly fathom. Catherine had finally become a CSI level one, and my team was quickly getting replaced, as well as a new, more modern facility was being constructed for us. The only constant there, besides Brass' reserved trust and friendship, was that there would always be crime scenes and bugs for me to lose myself in. 

  


When I left for my now annual lecture class at Harvard, I was almost dreading it. Of all the lectures and speeches and master classes I've given, I've never found that I got anything in return for it besides the pay. The students that came were mostly forced, and very few even looked like they could stand to be there. I was getting fed up. If they weren't going to appreciate what I had to say, my time could be damn well spent better elsewhere. 

  


The lecture went as planned. I spoke, they looked bored senseless. As always I invited the students to come up and ask questions after the lecture. There were only a few students who came up, and they spouted the usual questions: "What's the most (fill in your favorite adjective here) crime scene you've ever found?" "Why did you choose to be a CSI?" All the usual. When I thought they'd all gone, I turned back to the podium to get my briefcase, exasperated, and silently swearing that I would never do another college lecture again, when I heard her voice for the first time. 

  


"Dr Grissom? May I ask you one last question?"

  


Without turning my head toward her I answered in the affirmative, noticing that she had used "May I?" instead of "Can I?" It seems silly, but it clued me into something about her personality- she was smart, and precise about what she wanted. 

  


"You spoke about how sometimes it's only one small piece of evidence that can make or break a case, and well, I was wondering, what do you do when you can't find that piece? When you know exactly what you're looking for, but it's just not there, and you know that without it, you could be determining someone's future? When you could be sending an innocent man to jail or setting a criminal free?"

  


It was the first truly intelligent question I think I had ever been asked about my job since I started doing those damn seminars. I turned to her halfway through her question and just watched her talk. She was young, confident, and beautiful. She was beautiful in a way that I had always dreamed Emma would grow to be, but she had brown eyes instead of blue. Her eyes spoke volumes of her intelligence, her curiosity, and a knowledge of life that made her different from the rest of the mindless drones that dominated the campus. 

  


"Well Miss..."I looked at her, waiting for her to fill in the blank. 

  


"Sidle, Sara Sidle." She smiled at me and hugged her notebook closer to her.

  


"Miss Sidle, I do believe that's the most intelligent question a student has ever asked me. And an intelligent question deserves an intelligent answer, but do you mind if I ask you a question first?" I leaned against the podium, and smiled at her nod. "Why don't you want to know about all of the things the other students asked me?"

  


She tipped her head to the side in thought for a second and then turned back to me. "Well, first off, I was paying attention to the lecture, and most of what they asked you was either covered in the lecture, or not pertinent to the topic. Then there's the fact that if I wanted to know about gruesome things I could just go to a movie! Plus, that's not what it's about- it's about the victim, and finding justice, and letting the evidence talk to you." My surprised facial expression must have confused her, and she paused before eking out, "At least, that's what I understood from your lecture." 

  


She looked a bit sheepish, but I just smiled at her and picked up my briefcase. "Miss Sidle, I believe that you have a better grasp of forensic science than many of my colleagues. Is there someplace more... comfortable that we can sit and talk? I'd like to answer your question, and any others that you could come up with." She smiled at me, and then led me out of the lecture hall. 

  


Our evening was spent in the local coffeehouse where she continued to ask thoughtful and challenging questions. 

  


It wasn't until I found myself getting turned on by how passionately she talked about science that I forced myself to realize there was quite a significant age difference. I shifted in my chair and returned to focusing on what she was saying. That proved to be harder than I had anticipated. 

  


Her eyes sparkled. 

  


Her smile sported a peculiarly alluring space between her two front teeth. 

Her movements were graceful. 

  


When I started listing box scores in my head I knew that I was in trouble. 

  


I ended the night as gracefully as possible, and sighed as I watched her walk away, realizing it would probably be the last time I would ever see her. Even for all my struggling not to notice, she was exquisitely beautiful, with a mind and passion to match, even surpass, the physical. 

  


Back in my hotel room, I allowed my mind to think the thoughts I had suppressed before. It had been years since I had been attracted to a woman in such an immediate and strong way. Not since I fell for Maggie had I been so deeply drawn to a woman. But not only was she significantly younger than me, she was now technically a student. 

  


But only technically, my mind screamed. 

  


My mind also quietly reminded me that I could search the entire world for the rest of my life and never find someone so perfect for me, or at least that's what it seemed from my first impression of her. 

  


But then I remind myself that I didn't give her my card or ask her for her number for a reason, for so many reasons to be truthful. She is too young. She's sort of a student of mine. And then, of course, is the screaming fact that I have a seven-year-old daughter and that when I initially saw Sara my first thought was that I'd want Emma to be like her. 

  


It seemed convincing at the time. 

  


My dreams had other ideas. 

  


The next afternoon I walked into the lecture hall fairly positive I would not be seeing her, and slightly downtrodden at that fact. While yesterday's lecture had been about general forensics, today's was a special request by one of the professors about the role of a coroner in the forensic investigation. Apparently several of his students were interested in becoming coroners. 

  


Since I was practically positive there would be a dozen or less people at the lecture, I abandoned the podium I used for last night's presentation and sat on the edge of the stage, hoping to make this presentation more geared to a question and answer session rather than me rattling off facts they were only pretending to write down, and with the topic much more highly specialized than it was last night I was expecting only students who would be interested and educated on the subject matter. 

  


I asked the handful of students to move down to the first few rows as I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes past and I doubted there would be any more stragglers. As I began to introduce myself in case any of the students had not been at the previous night's presentation, the rear doors bust open and in flew Sara Sidle, looking a bit harried. When she saw that there were decidedly less people than the night before, she tried to hide a blush as she made her way to the second row on the isle- right in front of me. 

  


She smiled a gap-toothed smile at me. 

  


I smiled back. 

  


Either fate was playing with me, destiny shoving her in my face, or she was one perseverant girl. 

  


We wound up at the coffeehouse again, this time talking about everything but the kitchen sink. The kitchen sink constituting personal lives. My initial reaction to her seemed to be right- she may be the perfect compliment to me. 

  


That was amazing and frightening at the same time. 

  


I again ended the night when I resorted to box scores. 

  


Sara told me she'd see me the next night at the lecture. 

  


Even a cold shower couldn't stop my mind from fantasizing about a faint hint of something I thought I saw in her eyes. 

  


The third lecture was about crime scene reconstruction. 

  


She was there, and when I presented a crime scene to solve, she was the first one to point out that they were missing some key facts necessary for analyzing the scene correctly. Even the CSI level II that had helped me put together the presentation hadn't noticed that. 

  


This time we ended up walking through a park, a comfortable silence pervading when we weren't discussing fingerprinting powder and luminol. 

  


Two cold showers and an instructional pamphlet on fingerprinting desiccated corpses couldn't keep her from invading my thoughts the entire next day. 

  


The fourth night she sat in front while I lectured on proper collection procedure. I swear that for the first time she wasn't listening to a word I was saying, but rather staring at me with a reverence in her eyes. 

  


It was almost like the scenes at the beginning of the Indiana Jones movies where his classroom is packed with girls fawning over him, not the subject matter. 

  


Another walk in the park, however, demonstrated that she knew every bit of information I had presented, and again sparked amazing questions. As we ended the evening I had this urge to kiss her, stronger than I had ever felt it, but denied myself the pleasure of feeling her lips beneath mine. I rushed out a bit faster than I probably should have. 

  


The receptionist barely caught me as I rushed into the hotel, my mind repeating the evening. She handed me an envelope. Once on the elevator, I opened it to reveal a bright pink slip that touted "Phone message" in bold letters. 

  


"Gil, call right away, any time. Need to talk," was all the note said, with Maggie's name and number scrawled at the bottom. 

  


My heart jumped in my throat as thousands of scenarios passed through my mind. Was Emma ok? Was she hurt? Sick? I threw my things inside the door to my room and let it slam itself closed as I rushed to the phone. Sitting on the side of the bed I dialed and drummed my fingers as it rang. 

  


"Hello?" Maggie's voice was hoarse, she had been asleep. If she was sleeping it couldn't be anything life threatening. 

  


"Maggie? What's going on?" I was sick of pleasantries with her.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


The next evening I rushed through my presentation, already nervous about what I was calling my "final encounter."

  


I saw her discretely hanging behind everyone else as they left, waiting by the doors at the top of the lecture hall. She smiled when she caught me staring, but I couldn't return it. I waved her down to me. 

  


As she approached I shoved my hand in my pocket, fingering the business card I intended to give her. Even though my home number was scribbled on the back, it hardly seemed like enough for the woman I felt I was somehow destined to meet, for the woman who reawakened the man in me that had been hiding dormant under the father and the CSI. 

  


"I'm afraid I can't stay tonight," I let slip out as she nears me. I can see her face fall. I feel the need to explain myself, though I know I can't. For all we've talked about she knows nothing about Emma or what seems now like my secret life. "Something's come up back in Vegas, I've been asked to take an earlier flight, and I need to leave for the airport now." It's true, but I know I'm purposefully letting her believe that this is something work related. 

  


"Oh, well, that's fine." I can see she's disappointed, but is doing her best not to show it. "I had a few questions, but I'm sure if I do enough research I can find out for myself." She pauses and avoids my gaze. I wonder if my face looks as devastated as I feel. "Besides, it's probably better that I do it that way, anyway. I'll learn more."

  


"You're a wonderful student, Sara. You have an amazing mind, and though I know you'll do wonderful in any path you chose, you'd go far in forensics." I see a smile tug at her lips while she hugs her notebook closer to her, examining her shoes. "I'm not lying when I say you've come up with more intelligent questions than some seasoned CSI's I know." I pull the card from my pocket. "Here. If your research doesn't yield what you're looking for, just call."

  


I see a genuine smile erupt as she takes my card. 

  


"My home number's on the back if, uh, if you can't get in touch with me at the lab. I usually work the night shift, so there's no need for you to stay up late just to ask me a question." She slips it into her pocket after a quick glance at the back. 

  


She turns to go, then turns back. "I just-" she closes her mouth as she turns away, but turns back quickly, "I just wanted to say thank you. You've really taught me a lot. You didn't need to talk to me every night, but you did. That means a lot to me. So, thanks." She smiles one last time, albeit a sad smile, then walks out the back doors tot he auditorium, and out of my life. 

  


I know that I may never see her again, but since speaking with Maggie last night that's lost it's importance. I gather my things and head out the side door and into the taxi that will be stopping at my hotel to pick up my luggage, then taking me to the airport to go back home to Emma. 

  


My heart breaks a little more when it occurs to me that she won't be calling Vegas home much longer. 


	9. Wish You Were Here

Chapter 9: Wish You Were Here

  


My feet are practically dragging up the steps, my eyelids drooping and squinting against the setting sun at the same time. Brass sent me home, and I can't say I disagree with him: pulling a triple shift wasn't exactly the smartest thing I've ever done, but I couldn't stop, couldn't rest until it was finished. 

  


The last twenty-four hours were not only long. They were horrific. 

  


As I turn the key in the lock and lean against the door to open it, I will the images of the young girl, battered and bruised, out of my mind. Kidnapped by a known pedophile, the ransom note had given her less than a day to live. I couldn't stop working; stop thinking, until there was some kind of resolution. We were lucky this time. 

  


I push into the apartment and almost trip over the mail. I slam the door behind me and pick it up, shedding my jacket and tossing my briefcase onto the couch. If I thought cases involving children bothered me before, I hadn't anticipated how hard it would hit me after having my own child. 

  


I kick my shoes off in the direction of my closet and toss the mail on the kitchen counter before reaching up to the top cabinet, pushing aside the cooking wine in favor of the bottle of scotch hidden behind it. I gulp greedily from it, languishing in the burn it causes down my throat and comforted by the warmth spreading through my body. The bottle falls from my lips and lands on the counter with a louder thud than it should have, and I lean on the counter, my head falling in my hands. 

  


After a case like this I used to be able to run to Emma, to spend a day or night with her and her boundless optimism and youthful ignorance. No matter what I saw at work, I was always able to be a different person when she was around, and she could always heal the fissures of doubt and disappointment in humanity my job caused. But now she lives in New Jersey with Maggie and Don, just across the river from the firm that had given Don the "offer of a lifetime," as Maggie had put it. 

  


I couldn't make Emma choose. I couldn't even ask her to choose hypothetically. 

  


I know I gave up the fight too easily, but I thought I was over and done with the part of my life that included lawyers and custody battles. So I relinquished, and over a long weekend with Emma, I explained that Mommy was moving to New Jersey with Don, and that I needed to stay in Nevada; that it would just be like I was at a seminar, but she would be the one in the new place. She seemed to accept that it was what she had to do, but made me promise she could visit me, and that I would visit her. 

  


It would be almost 10 p.m. in New Jersey right now, long past Emma's bedtime, so even a phone call was out of the question. I took another swig from the bottle. She's only been gone three months, and I can already feel my life starting to slip away from me again. But I can't just pick up and move every time Maggie gets a whim to start her life over. I have a promising life here. And no matter how many doubts I have in Maggie's parenting abilities, I could never tear my daughter away from her mother. The decision now is far more agonizing. 

  


I try to push these thoughts from my head and am again confronted by today's case. I slam my fist on the counter, desperate to get away from it all. My eyes fall on the mail and I begin to sort through it, hungering for even a mail-order catalogue to amuse myself if only for a brief moment. Between the bills and the solicitations my hands fall on an envelope that makes me smile more than I ever thought would be possible today. 

  


I tear it open slowly, reverently. From inside I pull two papers; one is covered in brown lines and black dots, the other in Emma's beautiful scrawl. 

  


_Dear Daddy,_

_ I remembered to feed my ants today. They were very happy that I did. Mommy said that if I forget to feed these ants I can't have anymore, so I fed them. I drew you a picture of them. I hope you like it._

  


I look at the paper with the black dots on it again, focusing my eyes a bit more this time. It is, indeed, a rough drawing of what her ant colony looks like. Maggie wasn't quite happy about the ants in the first place, but the fact that Emma continually forgets to feed them hasn't helped any. She's currently on her third "generation" of ants. 

  


_I went to my new school today. My teacher is Mr. Vincent. He's very nice. There was a boy Johnny who was gonna squish a Japanese beetle on the playground, and I told him what it was and not to squish it, but he didn't believe me and told me I was stupid and just a girl and didn't know anything about bugs. So I told Mr. Vincent and he had Johnny look up the bug and he saw that I was right and he had to apologize. I told him my Daddy was an entimolologist. Everyone thought it was really cool that you get to play with bugs all day._

  


I laugh out loud. Finally, someone else thinks it's "cool" that I get to play with bugs. I make a mental note to teach her how to spell entomologist.

_Mommy says that she will find me a new dance school soon. Will you come see me dance? I want you to. I miss you. Please come visit soon. Mommy says it is too soon for me to go visit you and I have to be a big girl. But maybe if you come visit me she won't get mad._

  


My eyes swell with tears, but I force myself to read the rest with another gulp of alcohol. 

_Don helped me put your picture in my new room. I don't like my new room, but it's better with the picture now. My bed feels funny and my pillow is different. I want to go back to my room in your house. Every night, before I go to bed I wish on a star like you told me to. I know you have to play with your bugs and work and stuff, but I still wish that you were here sometimes. It's ok though because we will visit each other and I will write you more letters. Will you write me letters? You don't have to draw me pictures if you don't want to. But I will still draw you pictures. _

_ Sometimes, when I'm wishing at night, I think of the song Fivel sings. We're far apart, but I know we're wishing on the same star, daddy. I love you. _

_Your daughter, _

_Emma_

  


The emotion is caught in my throat and I almost miss the post-script. 

  


_P.S.- we learned how to write letters right in class yesterday. Did I do a good job?_

  


I read it again, and by now darkness has taken over the Nevada landscape. I look out the window and find the North Star, the one I taught Emma to wish on. Even with all the lights of Nevada, I can still usually find it. I see it, bright as ever. 

  


Yes, Emma, you did a wonderful job. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Ok, now carry the one..." I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I finish packing my briefcase for my upcoming shift. It's just after three in the afternoon and I stifle a yawn as I shut my briefcase. 

  


"Ok, now what?" I can tell she's confused, but is following my lead. I look at the scribbled notes next to me. 

  


"Now you can subtract down the columns like you would if there were no decimals, ok?" I hear her mumbling numbers to herself and stand, putting my briefcase by the door. Helping Emma with her math homework has become a daily task. Almost every evening around three she calls, waking me up and presenting me with this assignment's conundrum, which I happily guide her through. If she doesn't have a problem, which is few and far between, she happily tells me about her day, or how her ants are doing. 

  


I still haven't figured out exactly why these calls started, but I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sometimes I just can't help but think which would be the sadder situation, if Maggie and Don were too wrapped up in themselves to help Emma, or if they just couldn't do third grade math. On a happier note, it has kept Emma a part of my more daily life, and I'm almost more in touch with her now than I was when she was here in Vegas at times. 

  


"I think I got it!" she shouts, then happily spouts a number. A quick look at my scrawled notes on the table reveal that she's correct. 

  


"You did! See? I told you that you could subtract decimals." I move into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. I'm still hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep when I get off the phone, so I haven't changed out of my flannel pajama pants yet. The scruff on my face gets a long stare while I decide whether or not to shave today. I've often thought of growing a beard, and even started growing one when Emma was two, but she tugged on it and said it was scratchy. The next morning I was shaved clean. 

  


"Thanks Daddy!" I can almost see her smile through the phone. I rub a hand on my chin and let it fall to my bare chest as I decide to shave later. My bare feet pad against the wood floor to the couch where I sit, listening to her excited voice as she tells me about school today. 

  


~~~~~~~

  


"Grissom and Willows, 419 on the strip. It's a nasty one." Brass hands Catherine the assignment sheet and we get up to leave. Until last week when Johnson retired, Catherine had done her CSI training under the LVMPD veteran. As the only other CSI level three on the night shift with more than a years experience, her training's fallen into my hands. "Grissom? Hang back a second." Brass barks before quickly handing out assignments to our two temporary replacements from day shift. "Walk with me." He tips his head toward his office. 

  


Once inside he hands me an envelope. "That came for you today." There's no name on the return address, just that it's from California. 

  


"That all?" 

  


"No. Cavallo rejected your request for vacation time in June." Brass falls into his chair, pulling out a folder with the request I'd handed in a month prior when Emma had called excited about her new studio's recital. 

  


"What? Why?"

  


"Said that we can't afford to have you gone for a week in our busiest season, especially when it looks like you'll be our only consistent CSI for a while." Brass looked troubled. "Day shift's demanding their people back, and Mobley's dragging his feet on hiring new people. This lab's gonna be a mess for a while, and we need you here helping to rebuild it." He nods toward the paper I hold in my hand. "Family business?"

  


He's referring to the reason I put down, a vague reference to a family function. "You could say that." Even as we speak I'm trying to think of possible answers tot he problem, to appeal the decision or to accept it and find a way to break it to Emma. 

  


Jim interrupts my train of thought by leaning forward and whispering. "If you can cut this down to two, maybe three days, I think I can bargain with him. It's bureaucratic bullshit and we all know it. Worse comes to worse, just call in sick. I know what it's like to miss your daughter, Gil. Make sure you get to see her, no matter what."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Daddy!" She runs into my waiting arms outside the dancer's entrance. I throw my arms around her and lift her into the air. She sprouted a few inches since the last time I saw her, but she's just as beautiful. She kisses my cheek, and I know there will be a bright red stain there, but I don't care. "What did you think?"

  


"I thought you were wonderful!" Her hair is piled on her head in tiny curls, and she's in a satin and tulle ballet gown, pale pink and yellow, making her look like the princess that she is in my mind. "I'm so glad I could come! You were beautiful sweetheart!"

  


"Thank you Daddy!" She nuzzles up against me, happy to be in my arms, and content to be carried to the car. Maggie and Don left after the show, decidedly happy to give me some time alone with her. She yawns and leans into me, her arms circling my neck. I shoulder the bag she dropped on the floor with all of her things in it, then walk out to the car. 

  


As we reach the car, she mumbles into my neck, "Do you really have to go Daddy?"

  


"Yes, sweetheart, I do. I wish I could stay longer, but this was all I could do right now. Soon I'll be able to visit longer, I promise." I unlock the car door and gingerly place her in the back seat. I reach around to the front and pull out a bouquet of red roses to lay in her hands. "You did wonderful tonight, Emma. I love you."

  


She smiles and yawns. "I wish you were always here Daddy," she manages to get out before her eyes close. 

  


I kiss her on the cheek and push the flyaway strands of hair behind her ears. "I'm always with you, Sweetheart, even if I'm not here." I close the door and round the car. I know she hasn't heard me, but it doesn't seem to matter that much. 

  


She hasn't forgotten me, as I feared. And my short vacation, made possible only by Brass, has proven to me that Don has in no way captured Emma's affections away from me. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


My mail today consisted of two interesting things today. The first was a short letter from Emma which was accompanied by a drawing of the roses I'd given her, which now adorns my refrigerator. 

  


The second was again addressed from California, but this time I knew who it was from. 

  


_Dr. Grissom, _

_ I cannot thank you enough for the letter of recommendation. Needless to say, what ever you said got me into the program. I am truly in your debt. _

_ Also, thank you for the article on the uses of physics in forensic science. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to seduce me into forensics. I have to say, the article was very tempting. _

  


She then went on to outline her findings from the article, and I smiled. She was every bit as bright and intelligent as I thought her to be. At the bottom, she had signed it Sara Sidle. 

  


I pulled out a chair, pen, and pad, and began writing. 

  


_Miss Sidle, _

_ Invest in a subscription to the Journal of Forensic Science. I am trying to lure you, and I do not believe I will take no for an answer..._

  


(TBC...) 


	10. A Rose By Any Other Name

Chapter 10: A Rose By Any Other Name...

  


I straighten my tie in the mirror one last time before walking towards the door. I feel remarkably out of place, but I will not leave. I tug on my cuff links as I walk down the small hallway. This whole week has been incredibly awkward and difficult and, as always, Emma has been my saving grace in all of this. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't still be here. 

  


I knock lightly on the door and Jennifer, Maggie's sister, opens it just a crack. "Oh, it's you. Come in." The disappointment in her voice is palpable, and makes me happy that I was never really part of her family. 

  


I walk into the small room, Maggie's standing in front of the mirror being primped by her three bridesmaids. Though radiant, there's something wrong about her wearing the extravagant white dress and going through such a fuss, even if it is her first wedding. Maybe it's the Catholic in me, or maybe it's because I know how much she's hurt me, but she seems far too innocent in that dress. 

  


"Maggie, you look beautiful." I catch her eyes in the mirror, and give her a slight smile. For all we've gone through, I can't help but wonder what things would have been like if we'd made different choices. 

  


"Thank you, Gil." She smiled back and held my gaze for a few seconds. She really was a gorgeous woman. One of her bridesmaids stole her attention and I turned to find who I came looking for. She's in the corner, practically obscured by her peach satin and cream lace, with tiny peach roses woven into her hair. Her eyes are big and she's watching me, a nervous expression on her face. It seems they've all forgotten she's even here. I've been waiting for her to plow herself into my legs any second, but when she doesn't move, doesn't even say anything, I walk cautiously over to her and crouch in front of her. 

  


"Emma? Why are you over here?" I try to keep my tone light, and her beauty pulls a smile to my lips, despite my feeling that something's wrong. 

  


"Aunt Jennifer said that they needed to do their grown-up things and that if I wanted to make Mom happy I should just sit here and not move and be very quiet." Her voice was barely a whisper. Something told me that "Aunt Jennifer" had been a little more venomous in her words than Emma was letting on, especially with what I can remember of her. 

  


"Well, I came to get you, it's almost time to walk down the aisle. Are you ready?" She nodded and smiled. "You are a vision in peach, my dear, absolutely stunning! Can I see your dress?" I took her hand and pulled until she stood up, then lifted it so she could spin under my arm. She did a little turn, and then took a curtsey with a huge smile. "Simply breathtaking!" She giggled and dipped her head under my scrutiny. 

  


A knock sounded loudly on the door, and the young wedding planner stuck his head in. "Ten minutes ladies! Everyone should please make their way to the back of the church!" I stood and offered my arm to Emma, who was still a little too short to reach it without me sinking it down slightly. Technically, neither of us held a part in the wedding party. It seemed obvious as to my situation, but I was downright livid when I heard that Emma was not in the wedding. Don's niece was apparently a better choice for flower girl simply because of her age. 

  


Maggie had placated my anger and Emma's disappointment by getting a dress made for her and allowing her to precede the flower girl down the isle, and though she wouldn't be standing with the bridesmaids, she would be sitting in the first pew with her grandmother. It was only by Emma's request that I'm here now, escorting her. 

  


Emma grabs her bouquet of flowers and takes my arm as I lead her away from the women, who don't even seem to know that she's left, and to the back of the church to get ready. On the way we pass Ann, Don's teenage niece, who greets us and tells her "Favorite nine-and-a-half-year-old" how beautiful she looks before smiling and heading back into the church. I was immediately comfortable with the blonde teenager, who's been baby-sitting Emma on and off for over a year, when I first met her this week. She and Emma get along famously, and she was a big part in helping keep my social faux pas to a minimum. 

  


"Don't worry, Dr. Grissom, when my mom married into this family I couldn't tell any of these people apart, either. They were stuck up aristocrats then, and they're stuck up aristocrats now. The only difference is I can tell their pinkies apart now," she'd joked quietly at the rehearsal dinner. Her down to earth manner made me glad she was around Emma as often as she was. I couldn't have created a better friend for her. 

  


We reach the back of the church and I help Emma peak around the doors to look into the decorated church. Don apparently spent a fortune on the wedding, and from the looks of it, his family definitely wasn't hurting for money. The excess I'd seen tossed around this week was almost sickening. 

  


The wedding planner was back, shouting commands and ushering us around into a line. I smiled to Emma as I heard the organ music begin. 

  


~~~~~~

  


I open the door and Emma rushes in under my arm and spins around in the living room, her dress poking out from under my suit jacket she had commandeered because she was cold. Even with the August heat, the air conditioning in the hall created a bitter chill towards the end of the night. I can't believe she's still awake as it's nearing almost two in the morning. She danced through the reception, talked my ear off on the drive to her house, and is now dancing in the living room. Closing the door and locking it behind me, I just stare at her for a second. She never ceases to amaze me. 

  


"Ok, let's go!" I say as I rush across and scoop her up, throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her down the hall to her bedroom as she erupts into a fit of giggles. "It's way past your bedtime missy!" I toss her gently on her bed and kneel in front of her. 

  


"Awww, Daddy! I'm not ready for bed!" She pulls my jacket around her. "I'm almost ten! I can stay up later now! And today's a special day!" 

  


"Well, all ten-year-olds should be long asleep by two a.m.,don't you think? It's even past my bedtime. Besides, _yesterday_ was a special day, but today we have a lot to do! You don't want to be tired for the flight, do you?" Her eyes grew wide as I spoke. I'd almost say she'd forgotten that in just a few hours we'd be taking a plane back to Vegas so she could spend the week of Maggie and Don's honeymoon with me. I definitely think I got the better deal. 

  


"Ok, but I'm not sleepy yet!" Emma's eyes were wide and she was torn. "I don't want to be tired for the flight!" Her palpable indecision was almost comical, and I fought to keep a straight face. 

  


I put my hands on her shoulders and pulled my suit jacket from her. "How about this. You put your pajamas on, then we'll wash your face and we can take the flowers out of your hair so that you can keep them and not smush them into your hair while you're sleeping, and then I can read to you. Would you like that?" Emma nodded and jumped off the bed and ran to her dresser, pulling out a pair of baby blue pajamas with sparkling stars patterned on them. "I'll be right outside, call me when you're ready for a story?" She nods again, and I close the door to her room behind me, giving her a sense of privacy. 

  


Going into the spare room I strip out of my suit and throw on a pair of soft sweat pants and a t-shirt. The suit gets packed into the open suitcase by the bed and I check to make sure I have all the things I need for the next morning laid out before I lug the two cases to sit next to the front door, leaving only a small carry-on by my bed. I go back one more time for the case that Maggie packed for Emma and add that to the pile by the door. 

  


I can hear Emma splashing as I pass the bathroom, signifying that she's probably making a mess trying to wash the makeup off of her face. I take a quick walk through the house to make sure it's ready to be left for a week. Maggie and Don are spending the night at the hotel where they had their reception before leaving tomorrow afternoon, so it's become my job to lock up. My over-cautious nature has me checking each outlet and window on my journey through the house. 

  


As I'm double bolting the back door I hear Emma whimper from the bathroom. I stop for a moment, listening for it again. This time I hear an angry, frustrated sigh, before I hear her bare feet running through the hall and a loud "Daddy!" reverberates through the house. 

  


I meet her halfway in the kitchen. She has tears in her eyes and a contorted face to accompany the handful of knotted hair, flowers, and bobby pins she's holding above her head. "Daddy! I can't get it out!" She tugs her hand one more time to demonstrate, but only succeeds in pulling her head to the side. Her energy's fallen and now she's overtired, and I can see the tears begin to spill from her eyes. 

  


"Ok, ok. I'll get it out." I lift her onto one of the chairs at the table and turn her so I'm looking at the nest of hair on her head. "Wow." I can't help but marvel at the mess she's created. Her well-placed curls that were interwoven with flowers and bobby pins have morphed into a knot that more resembles something I'd pull out of my drain. I take a deep breath and extract her hand first without much trouble. 

  


Strategy demands that I extract the larger flowers next, which does little for the mess. After carefully pulling out the bobby pins the hair has taken on a life of its own, almost doubling in size. 

  


"I'll be right back, Emma. Don't play with it, ok?" I leave her on the chair and go to the bathroom, desperate for some help on this. Water will only make the mess worse. I grab a comb from the drawer and start searching through the cabinets. Finally, finding nothing else, I grab Maggie's bottle of conditioner and bring it out to the table. 

  


Emma watches me as I mix the conditioner in a plastic cup with water and bring it next to her with a frightened expression. "Just trust me, ok?" She nods, but is still apprehensive. "Tell me if I pull too hard, but I might have to pull a little, ok?" She squeaks out an okay as I start on the right side of her head, separating a small clump from the rest. I soak the comb in the conditioner and water and start at the edges, working my way up her hair. 

  


It took almost twenty minutes, but Emma's hair has finally returned to it's usual look, a little wetter for the ware, but untouched for the most part. Her eyes are drooping, but she insists that she wants to hear a story before bed, citing that I promised, and I did. 

  


She snuggles into her bed and I perch next to her, letting her cling to my side and rest her head on my chest. I reach down to her night stand for a book, but she stops me with a question. 

  


"Daddy, are you still my daddy now?" I can't see her face, but I hear hurt and fear in her voice. 

  


"What? Of course sweetheart. Why wouldn't I be your daddy?" I tighten my arm around her back. 

  


"Well, one of my friends at school said that when a mom gets married that the man she marries is your new daddy. But I don't want a new daddy. Then I asked Ann because her mom got married and she said that she liked her mom's new husband, but that didn't mean he was her daddy."

  


"I will always be your Daddy, Emma. Nothing can change that, ever. Always remember that. Don will take care of you like he's a dad. But he's not your dad unless you want him to be. I'm your Daddy. I always will be." A tear formed in my eye as she clung closer to me. 

  


"Do I have to change my name?"

  


"What?"

  


"Mommy changed her last name. Do I have to change mine, too?" She looked up at me with plaintive eyes.

  


"That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title."

  


As I end my quote I see her looking up at me, eyes big and round. She doesn't even have to ask her question. "It's a quote from Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. It means that no matter what your name is you will always be the same person. A rose, no matter what you call it, will always smell like a rose. But no, you do not have to change your name. You can, if you want to. Keeping my name shows that you are my daughter and not Don's. But I would prefer you stay just the way you are."

  


"Good, because I want to stay the way I am. And I want you to stay my Daddy." She snuggles closer to me. 

  


"Then that's how it will be. Always." I lean down and kiss her head. "Get to sleep. We have a big day ahead of us."

  
  


(TBC...)


	11. The Secret Life of Gil Grissom

Chapter 11: The Secret Life of Gil Grissom

  


The shrill ring of the phone pulls me from my sleep. I've gotten used to Emma calling every day, waking me up and starting my night by spending some time, even if it is only through the phone, with my daughter. But my body's telling me that it's too early to be getting up, so I keep my eyes closed while I blindly reach for the phone. I've already been disappointed more than once by hearing the voice of a telemarketer when I was expecting to hear Emma. 

  


"Grissom," I grumble into the phone. I pull the receiver back a little when the first thing I can hear is a screaming baby. 

  


"Gil?" Her voice is strained and tired, and I can sympathize with her. "I'm really sorry, I can't come in to work tonight. Lindsey's sick and screaming her head off, Eddie's nowhere to be found... I just can't leave her like this with the sitter..."

  


"It's ok, Catherine. Take care of Lindsey first. What's wrong with her?" I snuggle back down into my bed and under the duvet, the air conditioning leaving a chill on my bare skin. Peak at the clock reveals that if I can get back to sleep I'll have at least another two hours before I hear about the most important events in George Elliot Middle School today. 

  


"I have a doctor appointment in an hour, so I'll know for sure. She's kind of coughing, and just crying a lot. She's getting so worked up from crying I can't tell if she has a fever or not. I think it might just be a cold, but she's miserable." There was defeat in her voice. 

  


"Do you have a humidifier?" I look over at the night stand and the picture of Emma, barely over a year old, that sits there. I can remember many a sleepless night with the same exact problem. 

  


"No, should I?" Lindsey's screaming sounds closer, and has turned more into a proclamation of discomfort. 

  


"It's a good investment. Run a hot shower, let the bathroom steam up, then let her sit in there. It should help her clear out a bit." That and car rides were the only way to get Emma to sleep on the nights when she was sick. Even then, sick or healthy as a horse, she was happier being up late than rising early in the morning. Maggie's suggested that she still keeps the same schedule, even with the early morning wake-up for school. 

  


"Um, ok." She pauses, and it sounds like she's shifting the baby in her arms. "Hey, I'm really sorry about tonight."

  


"No problem. Do what you have to do," I bite my tongue and not add in that I always have. "I'll call Brass and see if I can get a couple of those interns from swing shift to stay later. They won't replace one of our best CSIs, but they'll do. Maybe that kid from UNLV, he seems quite on the ball." 

  


"Warrick? Yeah, he's great. Quick learner." I hear the water start running, and figure she must be desperate to be trying my suggestion already. 

  


I've found a comfortable spot, and with my eyes already closed I can feel myself slipping deeper into sleep. "Good luck with Lindsey, I'll see you tomorrow." We say our goodbyes and I hang up, my last thoughts before slipping into sleep of Emma as a baby, snuggling deep into my arms. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Grissom!" Catherine rushes to me in the parking lot even before I'm out of my car. She looks at my Benz with the same appreciative eye she always has before turning her attention back to me. While I was once as enamored with the machine as she is, it's hardly practical anymore, and the luxury is hardly necessary; my next car will be far more practical. I wait for her to speak as we walk into the building and head towards the labs. 

  


"Thank you so much for the other night. I know I should have called Brass, but..."

  


I cut her off. "No thanks necessary, Catherine. That's what friends are for." She starts to head toward the break room and I stop. "I'll catch up with you in a minute, I just want to drop this in my office." I hold up my briefcase, then turn to head down then hall. 

  


"Oh, Hey!" I turn back around. "How did you know what to do?" She's leaning against the doorframe, and I see a few heads from inside the break room turn to listen in on our conversation. These people are not the most discrete. 

  


I feel like I'm caught in a trap for a second, then answer as simply as I can. "It's just science, Catherine." 

  


She nods, looking slightly disappointed with my answer. Before she can say anymore I'm off to my office, happy to be out of the situation. I throw myself into my chair, not sure if I should feel ashamed or guilty. 

  


It started out so simply: no talk about my personal life at work. 

  


But it turned into a monster on my back. Some days I was grateful for the fact that I had a secret life to escape to, that there was someone who knew me as a person, as her Daddy, and not as Gruesome Grissom. Other days it was a curse, hiding my life behind double entendres and sometimes even flat out denying the existence of the most important person in my life. 

  


In the end, the reasons she's kept a secret, even though she's the reason I even bother to get out of bed some days, are quite simple. It'd be far too difficult to try to explain myself now; why I've kept her secret all these years, and because I love having her all to myself. 

  


It's selfish and brutish and horrible, but each time I think about telling even Catherine about her, it seems it can only end badly. Then I'll feel my gut twisting, and I'll remember the reason I kept her a secret in the first place, and the blinding fear that gripped me the night I made that decision. Even now, when she's practically a teenager, she's still my baby, and I'd lay down my life for her. Then I start to think that keeping the secret isn't all bad. 

  


The phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. "Grissom."

  


"Oh, thank god! They've been shuffling me around to every office possible!" I hear her voice and I smile. "Apparently, 'Dr. Gil Grissom' sounds like 'Ballistics lab,' among other things." The harrumph she makes isn't lost on me. 

  


"Sara, it's nice to hear from you. How are you?" I lean back, happy to hear from her. We've been writing letters back and forth practically every week. She's finally found herself a job as a CSI, and is rising quickly up the ranks. I'm quite proud that she cites my influence as a reason for her career change. While she'd no doubt make a brilliant physicist, I see the potential for her to be one of the best CSI's in the nation. 

  


"Pretty good. Look, I was wondering if there's any way you might be able to come out here and give us a hand?" She sounded a little nervous. 

  


"Rough case?"

  


"Very, and it's filled with bugs. Lots of bugs." She pauses, and I can almost feel the shiver run through her. "Killer's signature is leaving nests of some kind of beetle on the corpses. By the time anyone finds them, corpse is basically a pile of bones, leaving us with very little to go on." 

  


"Beetles?" I can't deny that my interest is piqued. 

  


"Yup! John, Paul, George and Ringo!" I laugh at her bad joke. "Look, I've already talked to my supervisor, and he's happy to get an expert opinion on this. I just wanted to get your ok before we go ahead and start kissing ass to get you over here." 

  


Again, I laugh. Bugs and Sara Sidle; not a bad combination. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"I can't believe we were so wrong!" Sara says as she stabs another piece of steak on her plate. "Maybe I'm not as good at this as I thought..." Her eyes are downcast and she regards the piece of rare meat before shoving it into her mouth. 

  


I'm compelled to try to find something to say to her. The dark atmosphere of the steak house makes me braver than I would normally be. "Sara, you shouldn't say that. It was one case. Besides, unless you're one of a dozen forensic entomologists in the nation, you'd have no idea that the beetles had nothing to do with it." She looks up at me, no happier, and internally beating herself up. 

  


I reach over and cover her hand with my own. She looks up at me with her head still tipped down, creating a more seductive pose than I was ready for, but I continue. "If you want to blame anyone you should be blaming the coroner. They misread time of death based on conclusions your team was drawing."

  


She laughs sardonically and leans back against the booth. "One simple test. You did one simple test and totally threw three weeks of our work out the window." At first I thought she was going to blame me, yell at me, but then she leaned over the table, pushing aside the remnants of her dinner, and crooked a finger for me to lean forward. As I do, she smiles. "Can you teach me how to do that?" 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


The walk from the restaurant down to my hotel is only a few blocks, and we walk with a comfortable repartee most of the way. I find my hand resting on her back even before I'm aware of it, and her gap toothed smile is revealed to me several times. 

  


While the last three days have been about working with her, viewing in action the fulfillment of my professional hopes for her, tonight has been about a connection, creating what I had only hoped for: a personal relationship to accompany the professional one. 

  


An intelligent and well read person, she complemented me just as I had remembered from our first meeting. At first I was pleasantly surprised working with her as a CSI, then I was comforted to know that she enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed hers. Now, as we near my hotel, I'm struck with the tension that has built from our light, yet steady flirtation. 

  


We stop in front of the hotel, and she turns to face me, her eyes smiling up. They're shimmering and bright and full of life. I let myself drown in her, her youth, her vibrance, and I feel alive again. Before I know it my lips are loving over hers, chastely, yet on fire. I pull back and her eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly. I let my hand run over her face, smoothing down her hair. 

  


Suddenly my mind flashes to an image of me smoothing Emma's hair, her soft eyes and vibrant smile rush into my mind. Flashes of how I wish her to be when she's grown play on the movie screen in my mind, and my first thoughts of Sara come back to haunt me. My visions of her embodying everything I'd like Emma to be erase the amazing feelings I had only seconds before. 

  


I feel dirty. 

  


Like I just kissed my daughter. 

  


Sara's eyes open and I can see something smoldering deep within them, but fear rapidly surfaces as she sees the look on my face. My hand resting on her shoulder, I rush to comfort her. 

  


"I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have done that." I look down, ashamed. 

  


She tips my chin up with her hand so I'm looking in her eyes. "It's ok. no harm, no foul?" I just stare at her blankly. She shakes her head and forces a smile. "I mean, it was nice. Well, better than nice. But neither of us should have done it... for so many reasons."

  


She's thinking age. 

  


She's thinking distance. 

  


She's thinking things that could so easily be remedied. 

  


And I'm thinking of how she reminds me of my daughter. 

  


I think I'm going to throw up. 

  


I move my hand down her arm and grab her hand. I want to say so many things right now, but very little comes to mind. I settle for the one thing that will give me an opportunity to redeem myself. "Breakfast, tomorrow?"

  


"I'd like that." she smiles back. Sara pulls away and stars walking back. "See ya then Griss."

  


As she disappears into the crowd I am disgusted with myself, yet torn and confused. I turn and retreat into the hotel, at least satisfied that I have the night to think. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I think I just found my first grey hair. 

  


Thanks Emma. 

  


She likes a boy. His name is Eric. He's very cool. She's hoping he'll want to take her to the eighth grade dance. She's only fourteen, she can't be dating. Dating means holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes, kissing. 

  


Oh, God. I don't want to think about her kissing anyone, ever. I think I just got another grey hair.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Daddy!" Emma rushes down the stairs and flies into my arms. I hug her tightly, amazed at how much she's grown. She looks more and more like the amazing young lady I know she'll be. Her hair's soft curls frame her face, which is barely highlighted with soft make-up. Her fuzzy slippers and oversized pink terrycloth robe make it a bit of a comical picture, but she's still stunning. A smile lights up her face ear to ear, and I revel in knowing that I'm part of the reason for that smile.

  


Before I can get a word out to her, Don enters from the back room, still in his suit from work, and his fake smile plastered all over his face. The superficiality of this man truly disgusts me sometimes. "Gil, so wonderful to see you. I trust your flight was ok?" 

  
  


"Yes, yes it was," I reply without taking my eyes off of Emma. I'm again cut off from saying anything to Emma by her mother's voice floating down the stairs.

  


"Emma! Hurry up! You still need to get dressed and we have to leave soon!"

  


Emma gives me an apologetic smile, and with a quick kiss is running back up the stairs. I was able to finagle a week off of work to get here in time to see her off to her eighth grade dance and then stay until her commencement to high school next week. My baby's growing up and I could not be a prouder father. 

  


Especially given the circumstances. 

  


I'm amazed with how normal she is, given the extreme superficiality she's faced with every day. Between Maggie and Don there's certainly been the possibility for her to grow up as spoiled and ungrateful as some of her step-cousins. Maybe it's talking to her every day, maybe it's Ann's amazing influence, but something has kept her from becoming a glib person. She has depth and intelligence, and a shining future ahead of her. 

  


Don tries to make conversation, but I'm not interested. I'd rather count the seconds until I can spend time with my precious daughter again. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"I'll fax it over right now." I search through the book on my desk, the phone held to my ear by my shoulder. 

  


"I can't believe you actually knew what I was talking about!" Sara exclaimed over the phone.

  


"Cibophobia is a very real phobia. Then again, there are thousands of ridiculous, but real, phobias. Like the fear of the northern lights, or the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth." I thumb through another few pages before I find what I'm looking for. 

  


"Peanut butter? You're putting me on."

  


"No. I can't recall the name, but there is one. You know helmintophobia is the fear of being infested with worms." I book mark the page, lean back into my chair, and smile. My routine over the past few months has come to include frequent phone calls to and from Sara. Though they're often work related, they are stimulating and fun conversations. We've fallen back into our light flirtation and mutual respect, the kiss placed firmly in our past. 

  


"Worms. Only you would know that one Grissom. Can you send the fax over? My boss is getting irate."

  


"On it's way." I smile as I hang up. Life, for now, is good. 


	12. Cockroach Racing

Ch 12: Cockroach Racing

  


"Grissom!" 

  


I turn and see Nick, a young CSI Level I, running toward me. His accent is barely there, but I've heard it described as charming by the women around the office. I wait for him to catch up to me in the hall. Brass is keeping everyone on for a double shift, but I'm on my way out with a plane to catch. 

  


"Hey, you asked me to run those prints off the knife? Get this, they're the husband's." He looks at me, a mix of excitement and expectation painting his face. He holds out the printed report for me to look at. I don't take it. 

  


"The husband? That doesn't make sense. Go run this by Catherine. There's something we're missing." I turn to leave, the case still on my mind. 

  


"Grissom, where ya going?" 

  


He looks at me expectantly. I can't tell him where I'm really going, so I say the first thing that comes to my mind: "Cockroach racing." I turn and race out as fast as I can without looking conspicuous. 

  


As I get into my car I let out a sigh. "Cockroach racing? Where the hell did I come up with that?" I start the car and head out to the airport, realizing that I just blew it. They'll figure it out. Oh well. Then a thought occurs to me.

  


People actually do race cockroaches. Mostly entomologists. Technically, even though I've never considered doing such a thing, it is plausible. 

  


Maybe I'm not caught after all.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I look in the hotel's full-length mirror, checking my reflection one more time. The phone should be ringing any minute. I straighten my tie once more and start pacing around the room trying to get rid of some nervous energy. Glancing over to the bed, my eyes roam over the brightly wrapped gift. I hope she's surprised!

  


The phone rings and I answer, a smile crossing my features as I respond. I let the receiver fall back in the cradle, grab the gift, and head to the elevator. 

  


I almost feel like James Bond, ready to make an entrance into the grand party and to confront the enemy: Operation Cockroach Racing is underway. 

  


But I'm not concerned with the enemy; I'm concerned with the center of this evening's attention. 

  
  


I take a deep breath and walk through the doors to the hotel's ballroom. The lighting's soft and there's a DJ at the end of the dance floor playing a pop song for the throng of teenagers dancing. The parents stand to one side, and I scan the crowd finding Maggie, dressed to the nines, talking to another mother. 

  


I carefully make my way over, still not having seen Emma. "Hello Maggie," I announce my presence as I near her. 

  


She turns and smiles. "Gil, glad you could make it. Gil, this is Angela Thomas, Jessica's mom." We shake hands and exchange pleasant hellos, I recognize the name as one of Emma's closest friends. "You're going to make her day, Gil." Maggie whispers. She looks happy, and that brings a smile to my face. 

  


"Emma's said you live in Las Vegas?" Angela asks. She plays with the cup in her hands. 

  


"Yes, I'm a Forensic Entomologist with the Crime Scene Investigation Unit of the Las Vegas Police Department. Unfortunately when they moved out here I couldn't follow." I can't help but feel inadequate as I say the words; moving sounds so simple now. 

  


"Gil was supposed to be on a lecture tour this week. Emma was heart broken when she found out he wouldn't be able to come and begged Don to change the date, but he refused. She even called the DJ and made sure he knew not to do the Father-Daughter dance because you weren't going to be here." I look at her, a question lingering in my eyes. She knows what I'm wondering. "Taken care of, Gil." Maggie seemed almost proud of me, and it was somehow reassuring. "How did you get out of the lecture tour, anyway?"

  


As I begin to answer her, a laugh catches my attention. I turn my head to see Emma and Ann, along with a couple of Emma's other friends, strolling l into the room. She's wearing a flowing red ball gown, fit for a princess, and her eyes are sparkling. I turn back to Maggie. "I cancelled. If you'll excuse me?"

  


I turn and follow the girls toward one of the tables. Ann turns to pull her dress out from under her high heel when she catches sight of me. I put my finger to my mouth, signaling for her to be quiet as a huge grin spreads upon my face. As I near I hear Ann talking to Emma, not so discreetly glancing over to me to let me know I'm supposed to hear this conversation. 

  


"So, where's your Dad?" She sits down, and Emma follows suit, her back to me. 

  


"He's on some kind of lecture tour he's had booked for almost a year." There's sadness, but understanding heavy in her tone. "He said that he'll try to get out of it early to come see me this weekend, but it's not the same." She leans her head on her hand. 

  


"So you must be pretty mad at him then. That's definitely not a cool thing to do."

  


"Hey, I can't be mad at him. Mom was the one who made us move, and he couldn't come. He had to do what he had to do, and he does the best he can. Just because he's not here physically doesn't mean that he's not there for me when I need him. He may be in Vegas, but he's with me more, mentally and physically, than Don ever is." She pauses, and my heart is beating fast. "I love him too much to ever be mad at him, especially for something as trivial as some party Don's throwing for me to get me to like him more and to further his reputation." I come up behind her as she sighs a deep sigh. "Doesn't mean I don't wish he were here."

  


I see my opening and take it. "Your wish is my command, milady." Upon hearing my voice her whole posture changes, and she turns slowly, tears in her eyes. 

  


"Daddy! How...? Why...?" She gets up and I throw my arms around her, and I hear her sniff against my chest. I pull back and tears are dripping from her face. 

  


"Emma! Why are you crying?" I reach into my pocket and pull out a handkerchief, dabbing it to her eyes and looking at her with concern. 

  


"I didn't think you were coming. I'm just so happy you're here!" She leans into me again, and I smile into her hair. 

  


"How could I miss this? No convention, no crime scene, nothing in this world is more important than you. Ever." I push her back and pick up the box from the table. "Here. You can open it and read the card and everything later."

  


"What is it?" She turns the box over in her hands. 

  


"A cellular phone." Her eyes light up with disbelief. "Well, you'll be driving soon and, God forbid, you ever get stuck anywhere you'll need to call someone." She raises an eyebrow and looks at me with a different sort of disbelief now. A half smile appears on my face and I acquiesce. "Ok, I also took the liberty of signing you up for the long distance plan and programming all of my numbers: pager, cell, home, and work in there so you can get in touch with me any time. And all the bills come to me, so don't worry about how much it costs." 

  


She starts shaking her head. "Daddy, this is too much!" 

  


In fact, it's quite the opposite. Monthly payments on her phone won't be even half of the child support I was paying until Maggie married, but I don't tell Emma that. Before I can answer her, the DJ starts talking over us. 

  


"Hey, is everyone having a great time here at Emma's Sweet 16?" I see Maggie slowly making her way from the booth and I know what's coming. I had specifically made sure that Maggie talked to the DJ and re-instated this part of the party. "Great! Now, can I ask everyone to clear the dance floor? It's time for that special Father-Daughter Dance! Emma, why don't you and your Dad come out here! It's my pleasure to present to you Emma Madalyn Grissom and her father Dr. Gil Grissom."

  


While the adult crowd was looking at Don with perplexed looks as to why he wasn't getting up, the young girls around us giggled as I led Emma onto the dance floor. The slow music started and I took Emma's hand, gracefully leading her around the floor. Emma leans into my chest as we dance. Though I feel a bit on display at first, Emma is foremost in my mind. A bright flash clues me into the pictures that people are taking, but I retreat back into the moment. 

  


As the song ends, I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. "You don't know what this means to me, Daddy." Choked up, all I can do is hug her to me tightly. As I escort her off the dance floor to applause, she looks up at me. "So, how did you get off of work? What did you tell them?"

  


Emma's very aware of the fact her existence isn't public knowledge, and understands and appreciates the reasons, but really gets a kick out of the excuses I make for myself sometimes. I smile at her. "I told them I was going cockroach racing."

  


"Eaw! Dad!" 

  


She smiles up at me, and I laugh with her. I am, at this moment, the happiest man alive. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Griss, how'd you do at the roach races?" Catherine looks up at me from her cup of coffee as I walk into the break room. 

  


I smile at her, and reply simply, if cryptically. "I won." 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


_Dear Griss,_

  


_I'm sorry that I haven't gotten back to you for so long. I've had to take some time off to deal with personal issues, and felt it best to just, well, disappear until I could smooth things over. _

  


_I received all seven of your e-mails and the two letters you sent. I'm sorry that I worried you, but everything is ok now. It's something I've moved past, and that's where I'd like to leave it: in the past. _

  


_Anyway, I was going over a cold case and I could use your help with something. Give me a call when you get this. _

  


_Sara_

  


I stared at the screen a few seconds before hitting the reply button. 

  


_Sara, _

_I'm glad that you've been able to work through what events took you away for the last two months. Please know that I am here to talk if you ever need an ear..._

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I'm on my way into the lab when my phone rings, the caller ID displaying Emma's number. I rush into my office and close the door, sinking into my couch as I answer. 

  


"Hey sweetheart, you caught me on my way into work. Is something wrong?" I'd already called earlier this morning to wish her a happy seventeenth birthday, and she never called this close to working hours unless it was an emergency. 

  


"Daddy, I... Uh...." She was breathless and speechless. Maggie must have given her my gift: a box with a set of keys in it. "You bought me a car!"

  


"Yes. Yes I did." I smile and lean back, amused by her amazement. "It's used, but I had it thoroughly checked out, and it runs like a dream. As long as you keep up the payments for the insurance and the gas with the money from your new job, it's all yours." Though I love to spoil her I had to ingrain some sort of responsibility in this for her. 

  


"Daddy! I can't believe you did this!"

  


"Did your mother take you to see it yet?"

  


"No, we're going first thing tomorrow." I can hear her playing with the keys. 

  


"Ok, well, I need to get to work, but call me tomorrow when you get to see it, ok?" I smile and stand, heading to my desk to get ready for the upcoming shift. "Love you sweetheart."

  


"Love you too, Daddy."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

DaddyLonglegs: But pin her against a wall?

ShootingStar: lol... dad... Are you really that clueless? And really, Pink Floyd?

DaddyLonglegs: what does lol mean?

ShootingStar: Laugh out Loud. 

DaddyLongLegs: Oh. I still don't like this whole thing. I feel like I'm very detached from you. 

ShootingStar: you'll learn to love it. IM is the wave of the future. 

ShootingStar: anyway...

ShootingStar: back to your dating faux pas...

DaddyLongLegs: I can't believe I'm talking about this with you. 

ShootingStar: Only fair that if you get to ask me about my social life I can ask you about yours, so suck it up ;)

DaddyLongLegs: fine, fine. I guess it is fair. 

ShootingStar: darn tootin

DaddyLongLegs: so? What did I do wrong?

ShootingStar: Daddy- there's only so much that you can do with being cerebral and dashing. (Which you are) Sometimes you just have to be romantic, which I know you can be. i.e.: push her against a wall and kiss her like you mean it. 

DaddyLongLegs: Romantic. Right...

DaddyLongLegs: oh no, what did I do?

ShootingStar: you hit bold, Dad. Just hit the little B above the text box and it'll go off. 

DaddyLongLegs: thanks sweetheart. 

ShootingStar: No problem 

ShootingStar: do you need me to get you the 'Computers for Dummies' book?

DaddyLongLegs: Haha, no thanks. I have you. 

DaddyLongLegs: How do you know about all this romantic stuff, anyway?

ShootingStar: I'm a girl, dad. It's just ingrained in us. ;)

ShootingStar: Plus I read Cosmo. 

DaddyLongLegs: Oh, that's stopping right now! My baby does not read Cosmo....

ShootingStar: dad!

DaddyLongLegs: Ok, ok... can't blame me for trying. It's my job! 

~~~~~~~~~~

  


Holly Gribbs died today. 

  


And with that one event so many things in my life have been uprooted. 

  


I was getting ready to ask Emma to come live with me, to go to UNLV and be a permanent part of my life for a while. This whole incident has just completely forced that to the back of my mind. 

  


Holly reminded me of her; strong willed, but easily grossed out. 

  


Emma doesn't like chocolate covered grasshoppers, either. 

  


There are more gray hairs appearing in the midst of brown on my scalp.

  


There are a few more pounds around my waist. 

  


Emma's a senior in high school and more incredible than I ever thought she could be. 

  


And now, as the supervisor of the night shift, I can't take as many days off for cockroach races. 

  


I'll miss the cockroach races. 

  


I open up the mailbox on my computer and begin typing:

  


_Sara,_

_I need your help..._

_(TBC...)_


	13. The Years Teach Much

AN- spoilers for several episodes from all seasons. 

  


Chapter 13: "The years teach much..."

  


Nick and Sara's report is sitting in front of me, yet I still can't wrap my mind around it. It was so important to this young man to fit in that he humiliated himself and permitted the very action that caused his death. The entire circumstance is horribly sad and cruel.

  


I have this sudden urge to get to Emma any way I can and keep her hidden and locked away forever. She's started looking at different colleges and universities, intent on studying dance. For a moment I ponder if it's really necessary for her to study if this kind of abuse and recreation continues. But then I know that this line of thought is entirely selfish and Emma would never be drawn into something so drastic. 

  


Then again, no one ever thinks their child can be involved in any of the heinous acts we investigate. 

  


Honest, yet cynical, hard working yet lazy, Emma is a study in contradictions. She's sweet, beautiful, funny, hard as nails and sarcastic. More me than her mother, she's a geek, but a personable geek who didn't need to be a ghost in high school. She loves art and music and will still sit in front of a TV or her computer for hours if I let her. She's so well-rounded, so amazing, so perfect I'd never thought it possible. She's my angel, my salvation.

  


Maybe I'm afraid she'll fall from heaven when she goes away to college, or maybe I'm just afraid of losing her to life. 

  


Ether way, I'm afraid. Of everything. 

  


Besides, no one thought when this young man left for school that they should be afraid of fraternities. Or raw liver. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Sometimes you just need someone behind you, pushing. 

  


I push Emma. 

  


Sara pushes me. 

  


Sometimes I wonder what pushes Sara so hard. It's like there's a ghost looming over her shoulder, reminding her of all her failures, and making her risk her health to solve each and every case. I know there's a ghost in her past, it's what form it takes that I'm unsure of. 

  


Fresh from the shower and sitting at my kitchen table, I'm going over my notes from this evening. I was wrong, and I freely admit it. She was dead five days, not three. 

  


I was so sure of my science, of what I thought I found, that I didn't give myself a chance to really think. The whole time she was behind me, pushing, and telling me that something was wrong, even if the science was right. Sometimes I'm so wrapped up in the evidence that I lose the human aspect of the cases. But sometimes that is all that Sara sees. Yet, she sat with me all night, and made it clear that even if she was wrong, she'd be happy knowing she was proved wrong by one damn good scientist. It was nice to spend some time with her that was less work-related than is normally the case. 

  


The phone rings, and I reach and answer it. 

  


"Dad, I swear to God my teacher is evil!" Emma's frustration flies through the phone. In the last couple of years she's stopped the daily for help with homework in favor of internet chatting or just calling to talk, but the last few months she's been phoning me just about every other day. 

  


"Physics again?" I want to laugh, but hold it in. 

  


"You know, I honestly don't care if the farmer ever gets across the river to his poor pig that's being staked by the wolf!"

  


"What?" Ok, now she's lost me. A flash of Porky all wrapped up in a blanket crosses my mind. 

  


"We have to calculate something about the boat going against the current, but all the information is hidden in this incredibly verbose word problem about a farmer and his poor pig being staked by a wolf." She's flustered and frustrated, and it's showing in her voice. 

  


"Ok, velocity, vectors, degrees. You can do this Emma, think about the problem, and take out all the unnecessary information."

  


"You make it sound so easy," she sighs in resignation, "Ok, we don't need to know that the pig is the farmer's prized pig."

  


"Well, technically, it is. And, technically, we don't need to know that it's a pig. Label it as a point, say 'p,' on the bank." I start sketching my own river on the side of my legal pad. 

  


"Technically," she shoots back sarcastically, "it's only easy if you're a genius. Do we need to know the flow of the river?"

  


"Yes. And I'm not a genius." 

  


"Ok, 'cause that's not in the problem. And yes, you are." I hear her start flipping through the pages in her book. "At least, you are to me." 

  


"Well, then, if you say so." I smile as she curses under her breath and pretend I didn't hear it. "You know, physics is a very important aspect of dance."

  


"I know Dad, you gave me this lecture when I wanted to drop the class." She pauses and makes a low noise in her throat. "I told you my teacher was evil. We have to do an unassigned problem to get the velocity of the river." She grumbles under her breath, and this time I do laugh. 

  


"At least you're in a good mood about all of this sweetheart. You know, I did an experiment just like this to find a missing boat once." I start sketching a pig on the bank, and as an afterthought, sketch a blanket around it. 

  


"You found a missing boat by helping a farmer get across a river? You just sat watching a pig decompose all night, you can't be in this good of a mood!" disbelief flies through the phone lines. 

  


"Got my e-mail already?" The pig gets a rope around the blanket, and a bush for shade. "And it wasn't quite helping a farmer across a river. More about calculating current velocity to figure out where the boat went." 

  


"You're so cute with your science! And I check my e-mail every day! Ok, I think I might have this now...." I listen as she mumbles through her calculations, impressed by her ability to work through the problem. Though she would make a wonderful CSI, I've never suggested it to her. Her first passion is dance, and she'd never be happy surrounded by death. I would never want that for her. 

  


She would be like Sara, feeling every case too deeply. 

  


She would see the pig on the shore instead of point "p."

  


Maybe I can get Sara to teach me how to see the pig sometimes.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


There was a moment when everything turned upside down. 

  


Just one moment, and my whole perspective on life has changed. 

  


The victims in this case resembled too closely the two women who I felt more for in this life than anyone else: Emma and Sara. I was infinitely grateful Emma wasn't anywhere near Vegas during those few days. 

  


Then Sara volunteered herself to be the bait, and I was furious. I was her friend, and her boss, I had every right to be angry at her for putting her life in danger. 

  


But when I thought that she was staring eye to eye with our suspect and he was ready to defile her like he had done to the rest of those girls, panic surged through my body. I had to get to her, at any cost. And there was no mistaking the incredible emotions I felt as fatherly or supervisory.

  


Wanted to grab her, pull her into my arms and kiss her so hard that we'd cease existing as two people and merge into one perfect being where I could be with her and protect her forever. She's stopped being the shadow of what I hope Emma to be. Emma is too much of her own person now. Sara has now become the embodiment of my desire: emotionally, physically and mentally. 

  


Chasing after our suspect by myself was, granted, not my brightest idea. But I knew who it was, and my personal sacrifice seemed like nothing compared to the idea that he would be free another day to prey on innocent women like Emma and Sara. The very idea that another young woman would suffer made me sick. 

  


This week has been full of revelations: that my team truly respects and trusts me, that I am too old to go chasing suspects by myself unarmed and without backup, and that I've loved Sara Sidle since I met her. 

  


Until now, I've been channeling all the feelings I have for her into the only outlet I've known for so long: fatherly love. But that's all changed now. She's a beautiful, vibrant woman who has captured my heart. 

  


There are still obstacles, but suddenly they seem unimportant. 

  


Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "The years teach much which the days never knew." I see now that it is true. With the years I've grown to become a person I never could have imagined I would be. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"What about Black Flag?" Greg smirks at me. 

  


I look at the cockroaches I've brought as a decoy. I may not be racing them, but that's no reason to kill them. "Are you nuts?"

  


I turn the corner and almost spill them all over Catherine, who is dully disgusted. Throughout my conversation with her I keep telling myself to stick only to the facts that I have memorized. They'll buy it, they have before. 

  


I finally extract myself from the situation and head out, stopping at home to leave the roaches back in their habitat before heading to the airport. 

~~~

Twilight is falling as I finally make my way into campus, straining to see the small signs. I finally park and make my way into the theater, picking up my ticket at the reserved desk before taking my seat. 

  


The lights dim and I am infinitely more interested in these amazing displays of technical and emotional prowess than I ever was with the linear and simplistic displays her dance school put on. Though her number is last, I find myself enjoying every minute of the program, my mind not wandering, but blissfully relaxing and allowing itself to be influenced by the movement and power on stage. 

  


Finally, after a two hour program, Emma's piece is on. She warned me that it wasn't exactly art, but more of the big-bang finale, and the guest choreographer wasn't really in tune with what the program was going to be like, but that I should enjoy it anyway. 

  


Drums and darkness, followed by the hallowed and forceful sounds of tap shoes fill in the darkness as the dancers are illuminated slowly. There's Emma, two from the left, in jeans and a purple shirt. The three in front toss their drums to the back of the stage as the speakers come to life and the girls on the stage start moving with their own beat. 

  


But I can't hear the music, the tapping, or the clapping. 

  


I shake my head and stare at their feet, Emma's smiling face, and know that it's happened again. 

  


Suddenly it cuts back in, and a heavy beat pounds in my ears, a man rapping over it. The taps are loud and crisp in my ears, and I sigh with relief. 

  


The dance ends quickly compared to the ten minute pieces that came before it, and I rush out into the lobby, waiting where Emma told me she'd meet me, bouquet of red roses waiting for her. 

~~~

"Hey Griss, how'd it go?" I turn around and head into the break room to talk to Warrick. I'm curious as to how he did. 

  


I stick to my prepared speech instead of telling about my wonderful weekend with my daughter. "The seminar was fine. Every one of my roaches got stage fright. They came in fourth, third, second and dead last. How about you? How'd you do?"

  


"Well, the job is fine. It's the other stuff -- the personalities." He's finally beginning to understand. 

"'I love mankind, it's people I can't stand.'" 

  


Warrick looks up expectantly, "Is that Einstein?"

  


"Linus." Ahh, the simplicity of Charlie Brown. 

  


"Charlie Brown. Figures. Is that why you put me in charge?"

"You think I like dealing with people? Remember when you asked me what I was in high school?"

"Yeah, you said 'A Ghost'." He looks perplexed. I sit down to explain. 

  


"When I leave CSI, there won't be any cake in the break room. I'll just be gone. So I wanted to see if you could step in." One day I'll just leave behind everything I've come to cherish here in favor of being with the one I cherish most: Emma. Maybe by that time I will have the only other person who means anything to me: Sara, and we will be able to disappear together. But one day I'll just be gone, saving me the pain of realizing I'll be losing something I never really thought I had, and wishing that I could have done it all over again. Warrick looks like he's beginning to understand what it is to be me. "Tell me... all of it. From the top."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Emma made me take her ice skating once when she was seven, just before she left. After we had fallen a sufficient number of times we retired to the side of the rink to get some hot chocolate. I remember watching the men and women, skating hand in hand, laughing and enjoying the silly yet romantic moments together. 

  


"There are three things in life that people like to stare at. A rippling stream, a fire in a fireplace and a zamboni going round and round." 

  


Sara doesn't turn, just stares out at the ice. "Charlie Brown. 'I love a zamboni.'"

And I love you. 

  


"We all do." 

I want to ask her if she'll go ice skating with me, but at the moment there are more pressing things. This is for another time. 

  


As we go to get the zamboni, it strikes me that Charlie Brown quotes are quite useful. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Added to the list of things Emma will never do: ride on a bus. 

  


The whole "locking her in a closet until she's forty" idea isn't looking half bad the more I think about it. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


There was a sad beauty in her illness. 

  


But it all falls back on her need to fit in, her need to be accepted and loved. 

  


I was worried about Emma when she left, but she's too strong willed and has no need to be accepted to ever try something as drastic as Ashleigh James. 

  


Sara's thin, but not too thin. It's part of her natural beauty. 

  


To be honest, it scared me that she was waiting under the bridge, though in a way I expected her to be there. I could almost feel her pulling me the closer I got, like the sun pulling in the planets. But I can't let that be the lone force in guiding me now. 

  


Though they all think I'm fairly clueless, I know what's going on. She's seeing Hank, and I won't compromise that. If that's what makes her happy, I want that for her. I won't interfere, but I don't know how I can stay away from her. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I never slept with Lady Heather. 

  


That doesn't mean I didn't want to. 

  


Besides the obvious, exotic qualities to her, she was a shrewd person. Her empire's built on other people's need for fulfillment, but rather the theatrics of it than the actual act. She was beautiful, smart, and seemingly knew more about me in a few hours than the rest of my team has ever noticed. 

  


I related to her on a psychological level that scared me. 

  


It was like a roller coaster. 

  


I could never turn down a roller coaster. So I kissed her. But there was nothing there, no emotion, no spark, nothing like I felt so long ago kissing Sara. I couldn't use this woman, even if it was her profession. 

  


Rather, we spent the rest of the night, which wasn't long, talking. Her life story was actually quite fascinating. But her ability to see into me, to see who I am scared me and excited me more than I could ever describe. 

  


She knew I was losing my hearing just because I was looking at her lips. She has a great insight into human nature because of her work. I was hoping that maybe I could see the way she thinks. 

  


But the longer we talked, the sadder I was that one of my best investigators couldn't unravel the mystery of my hearing loss that was right in front of her face. Perhaps it's because she's no longer looking at me; that she's happy with Hank. 

  


Then Lady Heather quoted Yeats, and images of Emma flashed though my head. I felt somehow very wrong, like Emma would be ashamed of me associating with Lady Heather, even though I saw her as a very strong willed, intelligent person. The need to run far away began to well in my stomach, and my out was easily created by Heather's own words. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"I just want to know why!" Anger and betrayal are heavy in her voice, I rush to try to calm her. 

  


"Why what?" I put my crossword puzzle beside me on my couch and lean back for the upcoming conversation. 

  


"Don't play dumb, Dad! C'mon. Why won't you let me come out there?" She sounds like she's almost in tears. 

  


"Emma, calm down. I honestly don't know what you're talking about." My body tenses, I hate being so far away from her when she's upset. "You know you're always welcome here."

  


"That's what I thought! So why did you tell Mom yesterday that I can't come?"

  


"I didn't talk to your mother yesterday." I beginning to see what's going on. "What was she supposed to talk to me about?"

  


"UNLV is hosting a summer dance intensive that I want to go to, and Mom said I could only go if I stay with you, not in the dorms, which I really don't see the logic in since I live in dorms most of the year here, even though I'd really rather stay with you. Anyway, she just told me she talked to you yesterday and that you said I couldn't!" Her voice is heavy with tears of betrayal, and I wish I could hold her. 

  


"Sweetheart, I haven't talked to your mother in months. And you're always welcome here. I would love it if you would come stay with me for a while. I couldn't think of anything I'd like more in fact." The thought of Emma, here, for an extended period of time, sends chills up my spine; both good and bad. 

  


It's been years since I've spent more than a few days with her at a time, years since she's been here in Vegas for more than a week. Suddenly I'm afraid that I'm no longer the father she knew, that who I am can never hold up to the image of me she has in her mind. For a second I contemplate taking everything back. But I know I can't, I'd be punishing us both unnecessarily. 

  


"Daddy, are you serious?" I can hear the hope and happiness in her voice, and I know I could never deny her that. 

  


"Yes. When can you be here?"

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Would you like to have dinner with me?" She has the same timber in her voice as when she asked me to sleep with her, and look how well that turned out. I'm in no mood for jokes, I need to pick Emma up and settle her in. 

  


"No..." 

  


"Why not? Let's... Let's have dinner. Let's see what happens." She looks up at me expectantly. 

  


Oh my God, she's serious. "Sara..." I already turned her down, and I can't do it tonight... Since her relationship with Hank ended I've been conflicted. Suddenly, the age difference, my hearing loss, they seem like huge burdens that I can't weigh her down with, but that does nothing to quell my desire for her. "I don't know what to do about this."

  


She nods as if she was expecting my cryptic answer. "I do." 

  


I have no answer for her. There is too much going on right now for me to even attempt to make things right between us for all that's gone on the last few years. The new problem of the insistence of my hearing problem weighs on me, as does the fear that Emma will not be satisfied with me. If I can't satisfy my own daughter's needs, how in the world could I even begin to satisfy Sara. 

  


"You know, by the time you figure it out, you really could be too late." 

  


Watching her turn and walk away I know that her words are prolific, on so many levels. 

  
  


(TBC...)

  
  
  
  


* * *

  


AN- first, I actually DID drop out of physics 4 years ago in high school, so I did the best I could. I am convinced my teacher was the embodiment of evil, though some other people didn't see it that way. Second- the program I described is based on my university's 2002 Dance Ensemble performance where I participated in a tap dance choreographed by Gil Stroming. 


	14. Outside The Box

Chapter 14: Outside The Box

  


"Emma?" I whisper as I push open her door. The lights are off and there's an unmoving lump under the blanket. A smile creeps onto my face as I walk over to the window and tip the blinds open. There's a low moan behind me and I can hear the bed shift. When I turn she's completely hidden by the blanket she's pulled over her head. 

  


"C'mon. Wake up." I walk over to the bed and place a hand on the middle of the lump and give it a little shake. "I'm making breakfast, what do you want?" 

  


"Mmmmmmmm," is the only response I get, so I pull the comforter down away from her, and search through the tangled mass of hair for her face. 

  


I drop a kiss on her forehead, " You have to get up sweetheart. This time tomorrow you'll be dancing already." 

  


"I'm up, I'm up..." She mumbles, then shifts around in bed, snuggling down into the blanket once more. 

  


"Ok, good." I head out to the kitchen, and on my way flick on the light in her room, laughing at her groan as I head toward the kitchen. "Emma?"

  


"Pancakes. And strawberries!" I hear as she pads down the hall to the bathroom and turns on the shower. 

  


Mixing the batter, I'm tired, but happy. She's only been here a few days, but has already become like the air I breathe. Catherine mentioned that I've seemed different lately, and I know that I can attribute that to Emma: she's brought a sense of domestic purpose and normalcy to my life. 

  


I'm lost in thought and pancakes when the lights flicker. I turn around, looking for the source of the light problem, and see Emma standing in the door by the light switch, her wet hair starting to curl over her shoulders and an angry look on her face. Her hands start flying in the air and I'm suddenly very aware of what just happened.

  


Damn it.

  


'When are you going to get this checked out?' Her movements are fluid, if somewhat lacking in their exactness. 

  


"Emma, I really don't want to discuss this now." I say it out loud, acutely aware that I can't even hear my own voice, and turn back to the pan to flip the pancake. 

  


Emma comes up behind me and taps my shoulder. I turn and face her, watching her lips move in synchrony with her hands. 'You always told me not to run away from my problems. Is that what you are doing? Hoping it will go away? Well, you may be right, Father, it will go away completely. Forever. Are you ready to never hear again? Because I don't think I'm ready for you to never hear me again.'

  
  


I just stare at her, amazed at her ability to confront me, and even more flabbergasted that she's read me so well. 

  


But I should have known that. She's always been closer to me than anyone else. The anger's melted from her face and she's close to tears. I hear her take a deep breath, and I know my hearing's returned. 

  


I reach down and turn off the range before I pull her into my arms. "I'm sorry, Emma. You're right." 

  


"No, I'm sorry, Daddy. We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to." She's choked up and trying her best not to cry, hugging me for dear life. 

  


"No, we'll talk about it." I kiss the top of her head, and wipe the silent tears from her eyes. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


After Emma's outburst and my hearing being absent several times today, I finally asked Al for a second opinion. They're both right, I was just hoping it would go away, and just like Emma said, I'm now faced with that option. Permanently. 

  


Telling Catherine was not comfortable, but it's what I had to do. 

  


The surgery's set for Saturday morning. Emma will drop me off in the morning after work, and won't have to worry about missing her intensive. Though I feel a bit uneasy about letting her see me in such a vulnerable position, I think my pride has to take a back seat for now. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Dad..." She stands and stares at me like I used to stare at her when she was being disobedient. 

  


"Emma, you don't need to come back and pick me up." The candy striper hands me the gown and leaves, stating that an orderly will be by to bring me to surgery in a few minutes. 

  


"How are you going to get home? I'm not letting you take a cab, ok? Besides, who else," she pauses and switches to sign language, 'even knows you are here to take you home? Please? It will make me feel better.' She switches back to speaking, "And you might even like it." She looks up at me with smiling yet hopeful eyes. 

  


"Ok, ok. You can pick me up. I'll have the nurse call. I promise." I reach over and pull her into a hug.

  


"Break a leg, Daddy. I'll be back when you're ready." She kisses me on the cheek and turns, leaving me alone to change into the humiliating gown. 

~~~

"Excuse me, nurse?"

  


I look up from the paperwork I'm filling out into the striking blue eyes of a beautiful young woman."Yes?"

  


"Can you please make sure that I'm called when my father's out of surgery? Dr. Gil Grissom?" I smile at her and search for the information chart on my desk. I look up while I flip though the chart for the contact information to find her nervously fidgeting with the keys in her hands. 

  


"And your name?" She seems sweet enough, but I still need to verify that she's who she says she is: hospital policy. 

  


"Emma Grissom." It matches the name he's put down as next of kin for this particular visit, even though another name adorns his permanent chart. 

  


"Ok, just check this number here for me, and I'll make sure you're called as soon as he's settled in recovery." I replace the chart and start filling out a slip to tape to the front for the recovery nurse to call. 

  


"Thank you," she says as she smiles and turns away. 

  


I watch her walk down the hall as I stand to stretch. Her confident walk in these dreary and burdened halls is refreshing. Just as she's about to head out of the swinging doors at the end of the hall, my eye is caught by a confident blonde coming towards me. 

  


They pass each other with little more than the cursory eye contact that belongs to strangers on the street. 

  


The blonde stops in front of my desk. 

  


"Can I help you?" I ask, sounding more interested than I am. 

  


"Uh, yes. I'm here to see Gil Grissom." She smiles politely and waits expectantly. 

  


"He's about to be brought down to surgery, are you family?" I'm sincerely doubting it considering she just passed his daughter without a look of recognition. 

  


"I'm his sister, Catherine." She must see that I don't believe her. "Look, I'll make it quick, I just need to make sure he has a ride home..." 

  


"You're not his sister." I look at her knowingly.

  


"Ok, so I'm not. Five minutes?" She's trying to bargain with me. And normally she's not allowed in. 

  


"What's your last name?" I pull out his chart again and flip to the pages of contact information. 

  


"Willows." She looks at me sideways and suspiciously. 

  


"You are listed under the emergency contact information. So I'll allow you to see him, just for five minutes, he's going into surgery. Room 211, right down the hall." I use my best authoritative voice. 

  


"Thanks." She smiles and heads down the hall. She turns back for a second and leans on the desk. "Can you make sure I'm called to give him a ride home when he gets out of surgery? He'll try to take a cab home if you let him."

  


"No need to worry. That pretty brunette girl's taking him home, we have it all straightened out." 

  


"Oh, ok, then." She mumbles something under her breath about him not screwing up as badly as she thought, then turns back to me. "Just tell Sara to call me, then, if she needs anything." This time, when Catherine Willows turns to head to Gil Grissom's room, she doesn't turn back to me. 

  


I don't know who Sara is, but this man is very lucky. He has at least two, probably three beautiful women who care very much for him. I wonder if he knows it. 

  


(TBC...)

___

AN- An "Intensive" (at least as I've used it here) is any kind of workshop having to do with one thing. At least that's basically it. More specifically, a dance intensive can last anywhere from a week to a summer and consists of dance classes and dance related classes (such as dance history, pilates, health classes, etc.) all day. It's basically like going to school just for all the aspects of one subject (here: dance) all summer long. Hope that clarifies some questions. 

***Also, for future reference!!! I DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE UNLV DANCE PROGRAM BESIDES THE FACT THAT THEY HAVE ONE!*** All facts used in my story from now on will be based on experiences from my own school. If anyone has any questions about the dance facts or would like to know more about the program at my school, feel free to e-mail me.

  


PS- Amazing special thanks to Marlou for the speed beta! 


	15. Shhh

Chapter 15: Shhh

  


I let the cold water run over my wrist, waiting for it to show any signs of warmth for my shower while my vivid dream still assaults me: visions of us together, wrapped around each other in ecstasy. I indulge in the fantasy for a second, letting the water run as I slowly begin to undress myself with hands that I imagine aren't my own. 

  


The phone's shrill ring breaks me from the moment, and even though the apartment's empty I cover my body with a towel as I run for the phone. 

  


"Hello?" I hold the phone against my shoulder as I tuck the towel around myself. 

  


"Hey, Sara. I actually wasn't expecting to catch you." Catherine sounds genuinely surprised over the phone. 

  


"Well, it's not much different from most evenings. Why? What's up?" This sounds like it's going to be a long conversation, so I head to the bathroom to shut off the water and begin redressing. 

  


"So I guess Grissom's doing okay then?" I stop short as I slide my shirt over my head, confused by the statement. I tug the tee into place then head to the sofa. 

  


"I guess so. Why wouldn't he be?"

  


Catherine huffs, her frustrated voice filling the phone, "So then the operation went well? Don't leave me hangin' here, Sara!" 

  


"What? Why was Grissom having.... his hearing?" I know she's surprised by my disjointed outburst, but I can't stop it. I stand and start pacing. "He didn't tell me about this! Why... Catherine?"

  


"Uh, Sara, maybe I shouldn't..." I can almost see her physically shying away from the phone. 

  


"Oh, no, Catherine. I want to hear it all..."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


My head is swimming, and for a second I don't know where I am. I rub the sleep from my eyes and see that I'm in my bed, tucked in quite snugly. I don't remember anything after walking to the operating room and hearing the anesthesiologist's speech as he started the IV. 

  


A glance at the side table reveals that it's early evening, and makes me so dizzy I have to close my eyes. When I open them again I see a folded piece of paper boasting "Dad" and slowly grab it. 

  


I attempt to sit up to read it, but dizziness befalls me again. I unfold the paper and read it from where I am. 

  
  


_Daddy,_

_Glad to see you're awake. The Doctor said you'd be very dizzy for a day or two, and that you probably wouldn't remember coming home from the hospital. He also said that it was a complete success, no complications. As long as we keep you in silence for the next two days there's no reason why your hearing won't be as good, if not better, than before. _

_That means no talking, for either of us. I did a little work around the house... so there's no doorbell, no phone, no nothing for the next two days. Your cell (on vibrate) is next to your bed... just text message my cell (which is also on vibrate) when you wake up. _

_Love,_

_Emma_

A smile crosses my face. She's taking care of me now. I never asked her to do any of this, didn't even tell her what needed to be done, yet here she is, taking over, and making me extremely proud. 

The lights flash and I look up at the door, a smile on her face. 'How are you feeling?' she signs deftly. 

'Dizzy.' I close my eyes and slide so I'm sitting up. 

'Expected.' She signs back. She looks a little apprehensive, but finally comes over to the side of my bed and throws her arms around me, squeezing me in an impossibly tight hug. After a beautifully long moment holding her in my arms, I push her back and see tears in her eyes. 

'Why are you upset? What's wrong' I sign. 

An embarrassed smile crosses her features and she pulls back to free her hands. 'I'm just glad you are ok.' 

I pull her in for another hug, touched at her concern. This time she extricates herself from my grasp quickly and reverts into nurse mode. 'Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?'

'No, I am just going to go back to sleep.' Emma nods and winks before quietly sneaking out of the room. I sneak back down under the blankets, my mind already fogging over, and dream of my daughter. 

~~~~~~~~~~

When I wake again I find that Emma's been busy again. On my bedside table is another note, a book, some mail, and a bottle of water. The clock registers ten in the morning, and I'm struck by the fact that I've slept almost fifteen hours. 

Prepared for the dizziness this time, I close my eyes and slide up. Clicking on the light I unfold her note:

_Dad,_

_Borrowed your car keys- didn't want to disturb you- and took your car to the Intensive. I figured that since you can't drive anyway you wouldn't miss it. _

_Left you the mail and a book I found in the living room with a bookmark in it, in case you wanted to do some lite reading. (Ok, so maybe forensics isn't lite reading... couldn't find much else!) Also, there's a note with some phone messages. _

_Text message me if you need me, I'll be back by 3 today. _

_Love, _

_Emma_

I scan the messages; see one from Catherine and one from Sara. Catherine's is motherly, concerned and asking me to let her know how I'm doing. Sara's is short: asking if I'm ok and to call her. Emma's put a note at the bottom that she sounded upset. I groan and slip the paper back on the bedside table. 

I'll deal with them later. 

~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes survey the scene, and I know that, no matter what, I've lost. There's only one chance left: roll a six. I start calculating the possibilities of rolling a six when a waving hand invades my vision and my eyes snap up to meet her face. 

Emma's plastered a fake mask of frustration on, and motions for me to roll the dice. She's been sticking to my doctor's orders to the letter; keeping all possible noises away from my recovering ears. She's been so successful at this sometimes I wonder if my hearing is any better at all, or if I've completely lost it for good. 

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes for good measure, she's very good at non-verbal communication, before I relent and tip my head. With a vigorous shake of my hand I toss the dice across the table. 

I wince. 

Five.

Emma smiles. 

I move the top hat five spaces, and ceremoniously hand over the rest of my paper money and the three properties that I'm holding in mortgage. In slightly less than an hour my baby girl has put me in the Monopoly poorhouse. 

I smile and bow my head before lifting my hands. 'You've defeated me!'

'I told you I was gonna win.' She signs back with a smirk as she piles her money. 'Want to try me again?' 

'I think I will just bow down to your superior Monopoly skills.' I start to put the game away. 'Movie?'

'With the sound off!' She reminds me as she puts her winnings back in the box and heads over to the closet to put it away. When she turns back I wave to get her attention. 

'Why? I'm all right now. And you shouldn't punish yourself just on my account. This has to be torture for you.' I know she's trying to take care of me, but she's never lived in an environment like this, so devoid of artificial sound that I know has come to comfort her as it had me. 

'Because it is good for you.' She signed with a smirk, 'Now don't ask questions, or I'm sending you to bed without dessert.' She erupted in giggles which made their way to my ears- sounding muffled, but there none the less. I smiled. 

'You sound like my mother.'

'Where do you think I got the bright ideas for all of the quiet, yet accessible, things in here? Grandma taught me well!' 

She flops down next to me and snuggles into my side. I have to wrap my arm around her to sign, 'Well, she just might have to get a good talking to, in that case.'

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, it's me again. Just, um... So... Catherine slipped and told me you were in the hospital. So, just call me to let me know you're ok, ok?" I wanted to say more, but reluctantly hung up the phone. Tossing the phone on the table, I fell back into the couch, utterly confused. 

While Grissom could be a prick, he usually didn't do it on purpose. Not returning my phone calls had to be on purpose. If he had surgery, which I don't think Catherine would lie to me about, then he'd want to be home. 

My hands start to rub at my temples, trying to ease the tension. But what if...

...what if something's wrong?

What if he can't return my phone calls? What if something happened? I jump up and search for the phone, my eyes bunging out at the thought of him in trouble. 

But I stop myself, and start biting my thumbnail. His rebuff had been harsh, but the wound was still open, and I still don't know how I want to handle it. 

I lean back into the couch and try to convince myself that he's not in trouble, that he's not calling me back because he's not there, or because he's being an ass. Anything but that he's hurt. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I step out of the shower and I can hear the faintest strains of music. From the other side of the door it's unidentifiable, but a smile crosses my face as I realize I can hear it. Over the last day as Emma's allowed sound back into my world, it amazes me how truly precious it is. The first thing I heard again was Emma's laugh. 

Now I know that I will never have to wonder if I will hear her laugh or not again, because I know I will. Dressed and feeling refreshed, I exit the bathroom and take in the more prominent strains of Brahms coming from the living room. I lean against the doorway and watch Emma, with her back to me, using the table as an improvised ballet bar as she moves through a series of bends and stretches. 

I get to watch her for only a minute before she turns and stops short, an embarrassed smile crossing her face as she see me. 

"Don't stop on my account." I motion for her to continue. 

A blush creeps up her face as she returns to her pliés. "Well," she stutters out as she leans back, "do you have to watch me?"

"That's my job." I smile at her embarrassment. Seems funny that just a few years ago she would dance anywhere, for anyone, and now she's embarrassed just warming up in our living room. I move through towards to kitchen. "Want some breakfast?" 

"Nope. Ate already. I need to get going, actually." She picks up her bag from the couch and slips on her sneakers. Her rolled pink tights, running down her legs much farther than her shorts, are quite a sight. She's told me it's a matter of simplicity and comfort, not a fashion statement, and I'm still not used to it. She walks over and plants a peck on my stubbly cheek. "I'll be back around 3, like usual. Keys?" She held her hand out expectantly. 

Instead of handing her my set, I reach in a drawer and pull out a silver ladybug key chain with two keys on it and lay it in her hand. She turns over the ladybug in her hands, admiring its weight and the red jewels that made up the spots, just as I did when I saw it. I reach over and press on one of the ladybug's legs and the back opens to reveal a small watch face. She smiles up at me questioningly. 

"I actually got them for you before you came- just kept forgetting to give it to you. Your own house and car key. Plus, you'll always have a clock on you- so you'll never be late." I smile back. 

"Thanks Dad!" She hugs me briefly before backing away and heading out the door. "And shave that beard!" She yells before she walks out. I laugh and run a hand over the scruff. I'm actually kind of partial to it, and too lazy to shave. 

I head over to the refrigerator to start my breakfast when the doorbell rings. I head over to the door with a smile on my face. I unlock the lock and speak before the door's even open. "You know, there is a reason why I gave you a key!" 

When I look up, I'm taken aback. It's not Emma, but rather a stunned Sara Sidle standing on my doorstep. We both stand there, dumbstruck, and trying to make some kind of sound come out of our immobile mouths for what seems like ages.

Suddenly she begins backing up and rambling. "I should go, I guess. I just came by to see how you were..."

"Wait!" I throw open the door and reach out a hand, grabbing her wrist. 

~~~~~~~~~~

As he grabs my wrist in a panic, trying to keep me there for some reason, all I want to do is leave. 

He is being a prick. He's not sick. 

"Come in," he says breathless and desperate, moving me inside his home. 

I just saw a brunette leave in his car, he gave someone his key, and now as he ushers me inside the door my investigator's eye picks up the presence of a woman: pale pink flip flops by the door, a hairbrush on the counter with long brown hairs in its tines and black elastics wrapped around its handle, and a pink satin robe thrown over a kitchen chair. Either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care. 

So this is why he turned down my dinner offer. He's seeing someone else. Bastard could have said so instead of leading me on with that crap about not knowing what to do about us and then pairing me with him on the bank robbery. 

"Look," I croak out, staying close to the door, "I was just making sure you were ok. You weren't returning my messages and Catherine had let it slip you were in the hospital, so I was just a little worried." He's still holding on to my wrist, and I softly extricate myself from him. I feel like running away and crying. 

"Sara, I probably should have told you," he looks at his empty hand like it's burning him, "but there never seemed to be a right time..."

I can't take it anymore, and I will not let him see me cry. "Griss, it's none of my business. I'm just...glad you're ok." I reach for the door and open it; "I'll see you at work when you come back." I walk out of his home, leaving him standing there, slack jawed. 

When I'm finally in the safety of my car I let the tears fall. Bastard. 

(TBC...)


	16. Legs

Chapter 16: Legs

  


"Dad, I'm home!" Emma calls as she enters. I hear the door close and the lock snick before she dumps her dance bag on the entryway floor with a sigh. The acuity with which my hearing has returned has been amazing, and I'm truly thankful. 

  


"In my office!" I call. I hear her kick off her shoes and the patter of her bare feet walking towards me. 

  


"You know this was supposed to be a dining room, right?" She observes as she wraps her arms around my neck from behind in a lose hug, choosing to hang there and survey my desk. 

  


"What was I going to do with a dining room?" I had closed off the oversized entry from the kitchen with a wall of bookcases, serving as more storage for my library and as a place for my live insects away from the main living area. Emma had demonstrated when she was very young that while I had no problem functioning in front of my bugs, she couldn't do anything without keeping an eye on them. Even now she's quite wary of where they are at all times. "This is much more useful."

  


"True." 

  


"Go shower." I command, turning in my chair to plant a kiss on her cheek and smile at her. 

  


"Do I smell that bad? I didn't sweat that much in modern today!" She looks insulted as she steps back trying to smell herself, and I can't help but find it adorable. 

  


"No. We're going out tonight." She stops and looks up at me, dumbfounded. "You know; you and me, outside of this house for once..." Her face relaxed somewhat. "Dinner and the theatre," I finally add by way of explanation. A smile breaks across her face. "Wear something nice."

  


"What are we seeing?" She asks eagerly. 

  


"Les Ballet Trocadero de Monte Carlo. I seem to remember you telling me about them a while ago. Show starts at eight, dinner reservations are for six, and I'm counting on rush hour traffic. It's three thirty now, and I need a shower after you. Go!" 

  


Emma looks flustered for a second, then smiles and bounds out of the room. 

  


I haven't spent an evening out like the one I have planned with Emma for years. The last time we went to the theatre was to see The Nutcracker when she was six. Tonight there's no work, no infirmities, no impending doom hanging over my head to keep me from truly connecting with my daughter. 

  


As I hear Emma rush into the bathroom and start the shower, the image of a confused and hurt Sara crosses my mind. I'm still not quite sure what happened, or why she rushed out of here so fast. I've thought about calling Catherine, and even considered asking Emma for insight, but in the end kept the encounter to myself. I'll be returning to work on Monday, maybe I can smooth things over then. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Emma's immersed in the program while we're waiting for the show to begin, and I can't keep my eyes off of her. While the father in me says that the strapless blue dress she's wearing reveals just a bit too much, I can still see that she's positively gorgeous in it. Her hair curls just over her shoulder, her dainty heels bring her closer to eye level, and she's been smiling like she doesn't have a care in the world. 

  


Dinner proved to me that she's not only kept book smart, but intelligent. Without the stress of the surgery and silence hanging over us, Emma and I talked at length about her intensive, my job, and anything that came up. I'm now positively in awe of her. 

  


The lights begin to dim and she folds the program in her lap, leaning forward expectantly towards the stage. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Sara, he's on medical leave!" Catherine yelled as she followed Sara through CSI to the layout room. Sara hoisted her bag up on the counter, pulled out a package of jerky, and then started pulling out tiny jars, each with their separate inhabitants. 

  


"Catherine, first of all, he didn't look that sick when I went to see him the other day, and second of all, it doesn't matter. My body was riddled with thousands of these, I did the best that I could trying to decipher the species, and I just sent back a whole box of specimen jars for Nick to bag every bug he can find! If it were my choice he could never come back for all I care!" Sara was practically yelling at Catherine now as she went through each of the two dozen jars she had laid out, putting a piece of jerky in each. "But we need Grissom on this case. At least as a consult... at least to just look at these guys..." 

  


Sara stopped and stared at the jerky in her hands. "Catherine! He's got me touching meat. MEAT!" 

  


"Sara, calm down," Sara only shot Catherine a look that could kill. "Have Doc look at the body first? At least?" Sara grumbled. "Sara? Did you talk to him about what's going on?"

  


"It's a little more complicated than just talking, Catherine." Sara rubbed her forehead and tossed the jerky back in her bag. 

  


"C'mon. Let's take a break. Tell me all about it." Catherine walked over and laid a hand on Sara's arm. 

  


Sara looked up and sighed. "Fine. I'll wait till Nicky gets back to call. Let me finish with these guys and I'll meet you in the break room." 

~~~~~~~~~~

  


Emma's hand is wedged in the crook of my arm as we make our way out of the theatre, a huge smile plastered on her face. The Troc, as Emma began to refer to it, had been a startling, but good, experience. While I had my own thoughts, Emma's insights through her training brought a different perspective, and I listened with rapt attention. 

  


"Do you know how difficult it is to do point? And men hardly ever do it! They were just amazing! I've always wanted to see them perform..." She squeezes my arm. "Thank you so much Daddy!" 

  


We finally reach the car and we get in, Emma still discussing the technical aspects of the show with awe. As we pull out onto the street I feel a vibration on my hip. My hand goes to my belt and I pull the pager out, tossing it over to Emma who's been watching me. 

  


"What does that say?" 

  


"911 bugs HQ Nick," She reads off in confusion.

  


"Work. Must be important otherwise they'd never page me." I look over to see her face slightly crestfallen. "I'll drop you off at home, then stop at work for a minute. It shouldn't be long."

  


"It's important?" Emma asks, playing with my pager. 

  


"If it's not, they're in trouble." I joke. 

  


"Well, aren't we closer to CSI than home? I can wait in the car... Or your office, or something, right? If it's important, it's important." She looks at me with a half smile and shrugs. 

  


"Are you sure?" She nods and I smile. While it seems that I can't get through one nice evening out without getting paged by work, I think I've found the first woman who truly understands. I take the first right turn I see and mumble under my breath, "Nick, this better be good."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Nick, this better be good!" I said as I strolled in the layout room. "What did you do, collect every bug you saw?"

  


"Yeah, basically." Nick smiled, shrugged, and waved at the collection of jars that covered the table. "Yeah, Griss. It's good. Besides your normal creepy crawlers, which Sara braved meat to keep alive for you might I add, we've got spiders."

  


"Spiders?" I ask as I move to take a closer look at the jars on the table. 

  


"Yup. Spiders all over the body. I haven't been able to identify them yet, and we know that you're supposed to be on medical leave..."

  


I look up at him from my position at eye level with the jars. I know there's an edge to my voice, but at the moment I don't really care. "I am on medical leave, Nick."

  


"Well, you look all dressed up like you were out on a date or something..." I look at him again and he stops his rambling with a well-placed cough. "Anyway, we were hoping you could shed some light on this for us." 

  


"Start putting all of this stuff in boxes and bring it over to my office. I'll need a copy of whatever notes you have available, too. I have to go home, I'll be back in an hour." Nick nods and starts collecting the jars as I head out to my office. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Greg flies into the break room like a bat out of hell, a grin on his face and a question in his eyes. Catherine and I are still sitting here, our lunch long gone. She's been avoiding saying anything concrete about my problems, but continues to assure me all I need to do is talk to him.

  


Greg looks at us with wild eyes. "Who's in Grissom's office?"

  


"I'd assume Grissom. We paged him; bugs." I add in, hoping that it's indifference and not anger clouding my voice. 

  


"Uh, unless he got a sex change in the last few days, I definitely don't think those were his stiletto heels, tiny feet, or shapely legs that I saw dangling over the side of his chair when I walked past his office." Greg's practically salivating while he's describing his discovery.

  


My stomach drops at Greg's assessment. Damn him! He brought her here? Now he has to shove this in my face. Catherine must sense my discomfort, because she runs interference for me. 

  


"Greg, are you sure?" She stands up and puts her hand on his shoulder in a motherly way. 

  


"Very. I did a double take. The chair was facing backwards.. But those legs..." He reverts into his own dreamland for a second and Catherine watches as I roll my eyes. 

  


I can hear Grissom's tone down the hall before I hear the actual words, and my body is called to attention. Then I hear it; the tiny clack of delicate heels on the floor. The three of us turn to look out the glass at the hallway, but all I can see from this angle is Grissom, his head turned to a woman on his arm. Once he passes me I can see that she's a brunette, her hair done with care, her blue dress is flattering and strapless, showing off her figure with a quiet sensuality, and black stately stilettos clicked on the floor. 

  


Greg was right, her legs were gorgeous. Muscular calves were displayed as her dress ended in a slight train just below her knees. Suddenly I felt just like I did in high school: Tall, lanky, and a complete fool. 

  


Greg, for his part, was hanging on the doorway, his eyes locked on the mystery woman on Grissom's arm, salivating. I couldn't take it anymore, I had to leave. 

  


"I have to go find Nick," I mumble as I push past Catherine and Greg, stomping down the hall. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I try to be quiet as I stumble through the door, aware that on her first day off from the intensive Emma's most likely asleep at this early hour. 

  


The poor guy had stumbled upon a nest of spiders and died of anaphylactic shock. While it looked like a suspicious circs, the tox screen confirmed that he was allergic to spider venom. One bite wouldn't have done anything, but the twenty or so we found on his leg definitely did him in. 

  


The television's on, casing a blue glow in the dark room. Emma's curled up sleeping on the couch, a blanket balled in her fists, an infomercial casting an eerie glow on her features. I sit on the edge of the couch by her feet and shake her, eliciting a moan as she rolls over and blinks her eyes at me. 

  


"What time is it?" she croaks out. 

  


"Six-thirty. Why aren't you in bed? You're not waiting up for me, I hope." I smile and tuck the blanket more securely around her. 

  


"Nope, was watchin' some tv. Every time I fell asleep I'd see that thing... in that jar..." She shivers with recognition, but I'm not sure what she's talking about, her description just short of being specific. "So I thought I'd distract myself." She smiles up sleepily. 

  


"C'mon!" I say as I pull at her hands. "Bed time for both of us!" 

  


"Amen to that!" She mumbles as she pulls the blanket around her, following me down the hall. When we get to her door she reaches up and plants a kiss on my cheek. "Thanks Dad, for everything." 

  


She's looking up at me with such love and admiration that I'm sure there's some hidden meaning I'm missing. But for now I'll just accept the warm feeling it's giving me. I reach over and hug her tightly. "I love you more than anything Emma, even my job, you know that." 

  


She hugged me tightly, and with another peck, she disappeared into her room. 

  


While I was processing my bugs tonight I realized that at some point, probably very soon, a man will be in her life and I'll hold a slightly less important spot. She'll look to someone else for comfort and wisdom, strength and help. Sighing, I decided to make the best of the time I have left with her to myself. 

  


(TBC...) 


	17. Sore Spots

Chapter 17: Sore Spots 

  


"Emma?"

  


"Uhhnnnnn..." came Emma's groan from the couch. I could only see one sock clad foot protruding from the blanket and an arm slung over her eyes as I entered the living room, and something told me that this situation was just not right. The lack of light from the falling dusk added to the mystery of the scene, and I approached her carefully. 

  


"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" As I got closer I could see that she had one leg propped up on the coffee table, still under the blanket, a bulge where her knee should be. 

  


She pushed herself up onto her elbows causing her face to contort in discomfort. "Sore," she answered in a scratchy voice. Emma cleared her throat and wiped the sleep from her eyes as I lifted her foot into my lap to sit on the arm of the couch. She let out a contented groan as I started to massage it. 

  


"Why so sore? You weren't this bad last week? Were you?" Though I've had glimpses through Emma, the world of a dancer is still a mystery to me; aches, pains, ambition, and hard work... this new suffering aspect has me quite worried. 

  


"Yeah. You were just drugged up and missed my drama queen act," she throws at me with a lopsided grin. "We got a new modern teacher in today. He has more of an African style with some sadistic tendencies." At my confused look, she laughs. "It's cool, Dad. He gives a great class, I'm just not used to moving like that!"

  


"Are you going to be ok? I could stay home from work..." I trail off as she gives me an incredulous look. To be honest, I'm almost dreading going back to work, especially after my encounter with Sara. I would rather stay here, losing at Monopoly to Emma, than be stuck in a hell where I can't express myself, can't fix what's gone so horribly wrong. 

  


With the weight of my hearing off of my back, I've been able to open my eyes and see that I've only created more problems while I was shutting out the real world. 

  


"Nope. You gotta work." She smiles and sits up, revealing an ice pack on her knee. "I know you miss it. I'll be fine."

  


Normally she'd be right, but tonight it feels like I'm heading for the executioner. 

  


I lean over and kiss her forehead. "Ok, sweetheart. Call me if you need anything?"

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Got a minute?" Brass pokes his head into my office, a half smile on his face.

  


"Sure, Jim. What's up?" I put the file down, happy to be distracted from the paperwork. Shift won't start for another two hours, but even with the heavy pall of consequence hanging over my head, I have certain administrative responsibilities that were ignored for a week. 

  


"Just came to see how you're doing, you know: shoot the shit." Jim's smile seemed a bit more sinister as he sat down in front of me. 

  


"How thoughtful," I say as I lean back, a speculative edge to my voice. Jim just raises his eyebrows. I look back at him and shake my head a little; you're not fooling me. 

  


"How's Emma doing?" He asks plainly. 

  


At first I'm caught off guard, but relax into the ease of the situation. With Emma and Ellie practically the same age, Jim and I have shared the concerns of being absent fathers over bottles of beer many a night. "She's doing great. Better than I ever expected." A small smile hints at my eyes, proof of my pride in her. 

  


"Saw you two in the parking lot the other night. She's gorgeous, Gil." I detect a hint of sadness in his voice, possibly for the loss of a relationship with his own daughter. He shifts in his chair, clearing away the unwanted memory, and continues, "Things around here have been a bit shaken up since you left."

  


"How so?" I'm gone for a week and the world ends around here. Not the kind of information I want to hear, especially when I thought they'd be more than competent to deal with my absence. 

  


"Sara's in one of her moods, Cath picked it up the other day, neither of them are spilling about it. That put the boys on edge, and then there's Greg."

  


"What about Greg?" Though the lab tech has an affinity for getting under-foot, I truly do respect his tenacity and knowledge. I joke because I care, but it occurs to me that I may want to make sure he understands that.

  


"Well, he can't seem to stop talking about this certain leggy brunette who has invaded his imagination..." Jim scrunches his eyebrows. 

  


"And that's different... how?"

  


"'Legs,' as he calls her, was actually your escort last Friday night." 

  


For a second I stop breathing, and Jim starts laughing hilariously- though I don't' see any humor in the situation. 

  


Greg is thinking about Emma. But there isn't enough time to figure out how I feel about this before Brass cuts in again. 

  


"Problem is, no one saw her face." I raise an eyebrow in confusion. Brass leans forward and whispers to me, "They all think she's your girlfriend, Gil."

  


"What?" I practically shout.

  


"Yeah, Gil." Brass gets up to leave, but he turns back to me. "You know, I know discretion was... important before. But there are some things that shouldn't be kept total secrets." He turns back to me completely and looks at the floor while he's talking. "She's a big girl now, Gil. You can't protect her forever. Enjoy it while you can." He looks up at me, "Talk to them and straighten things out. About everything."

  


And with that, he's gone. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Sara, Nick, missing person." I hand them the slip and turn to Catherine. "Cath, you have court tomorrow, brush up on your notes. Warrick, keep on the db from the other night." At their stares I continue. "I'm on a backlog of paperwork unless something else comes in." With a smile I add, "I'll be in my office, stop by." 

  


I shrug my shoulders and turn to leave when I hear Warrick. 

  


"Boss, you... better?"

  


Turning back, I see his concerned face, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes holding a look of apprehension. 

  


"Better than I've been in a while."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Griss?" Sara asks hesitantly, leaning on the doorframe, an apprehensive look on her face. 

  


"Come in," I say, motioning to the chair across from my desk. She slowly crosses the room and sits, looking anywhere but at me. Once sitting, she doesn't say anything, so I try to get her to look at me. "How was the missing person?"

  


She looks up, then slouches over and looks back at her hands before talking. "Girl ran away from home, came back while we were processing her room because she forgot her toothbrush."

  


"Oh." The tension in the air is thick, and I'm trying to think of a way to cut it, when she speaks.

  


"Look," she starts, alternating her piercing gaze between her hands and me, "I'm glad you're.... better." She's choosing her words carefully, I can tell. "I probably shouldn't have come visit you... but I was worried."

  


"Sara," I try to interject, but she puts a hand up, indicating that she's not done speaking, and I grant her the courtesy of continuing. 

  


"No matter–" This time we're both stopped by the shrill sound of her pager. "It's Greg, I'm helping Warrick with the db, if that's ok?" 

  


She almost looks timid, and that scares me. "Yeah."

  


She nods and leaves, and I'm left to wonder what just happened. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


If anything, shift had been more confusing than I thought. The only saving grace was that Catherine was either too busy with her dead body, or too angry with me, to even try to talk to me. I push open the door, wondering what condition I'll find Emma in, and am met with loud, driving punk rock. 

  


Reminds me of Greg.

  


Greg was thinking about Emma. 

  


I shake my head, hoping to de-rail that train of thought, when Emma comes bounding in the room; all that's left of yesterday's drama a slight limp. From the doorway I watch her dance around the kitchen, singing at the top of her lungs. 

  


"You! Don't wanna be just like you! What I'm sayin' is: this is the anthem throw all your hands up! You! Don't wanna be you!" Her untamed hair whips about her head as she washes the dishes from her breakfast. I close the door, and the noise must have scared her, because she jumps and turns to me. Her fright dissolves to a smile as I enter the room. She reaches over and stops the CD in the small boom box she's set up, and shrugs in apology. "Sorry. Good Charlotte."

  


"Oh." I have no idea what she's talking about...but I assume she's talking about the music she's turned off. 

  


"You ok? You look tired." She says as she comes over and gives me a tight hug. 

  


"I'm fine, just a long night." I head into my office to drop off my briefcase, teeming with backlogged paperwork. She follows me and hangs in the door as I unpack the files to read later. 

  


"You're late. Things at work ok?"

  


"Just busy," I assure her. Jim and I had breakfast while I finished up some of the reports. He was quite curious about her, but I don't tell her that. She's shown me in the past that she can still be fiercely private, and I respect that. "I should probably go in for a double shift this evening, would you mind if I drove you in and picked you up tonight?" I turn and lean back on my desk, as she shrugs in the doorway. 

  


"Actually, I was wondering if you'd mind if I hung out with some of the girls tonight after class? We were all going to catch a movie, complain about our teachers, you know, the usual." She smiles at me and adds a wink in for good measure. 

  


"Sure. That's no problem." I smile back. "Are you going to need a ride?" I don't know if I should be impressed or worried that she feels the need to ask my permission to spend the night out. 

  


"I think one of the girls can give me one, if you can drop me off?" She shines her baby blue eyes up at me like a lost puppy and I laugh just a little. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


If I didn't know better, I'd think that paperwork has a special reproductive power; multiplying itself while I'm not looking. But I know better. It just seems like there's more because I've been drowning in it for a few hours now. 

  


Nick stopped in to say hi a little while ago, as did Greg. My night crew is slowly dribbling in before shift as swing shift files out, and so far there isn't the same amount of tension as last night. It's seemed to dissipate, to vanish, just a bit. 

  


All too quickly it's time to start shift, and I set my paperwork aside and head out to the break room. Upon entering I can see that the picture my team makes seems normal on the surface, but the subtle differences I pick up on tell me that the tension I thought was slowly leaving may not have left at all. 

  


Nick and Warrick are lounged out on the couches, but their posture tells me they're nervous. Sara, waiting attentively at the table, has an air of defeat around her that, quite frankly, scares me. Catherine, for her part, is poised like a tightly coiled cobra ready to strike. Her eyes are practically boring holes into my skin, and I can do nothing but try to shake it off. 

  


As I'm about to hand out tonight's meager offerings: a trick roll and liquor store robbery, Jim throws the door open and motions for me to come over to him. With a raise of the eyebrows to my team, I move over to him. 

  


He leans in close to whisper in my ear, "Emma come home tonight?"

  


"What?" I whisper out harshly. 

  


"Just got the call, db behind the performing arts building of UNLV; dancer, brown hair, blue eyes." While my breathing stops at this, my mind screams that it can't be her. There is no earthly way it can be her. 

  


"Jim, that could be any one of a dozen people there!" I don't know if I'm trying to convince him or myself. My voice's tone has commanded attention, but I don't much care right now. 

  


"How many of them carry around ladybug key chains with only two keys on it?" He adds quietly. 

  


I curse loudly as I run from the room, my cell phone already on my ear as I'm desperate to call her, to get in touch with her. She's not picking up her cell phone, and my world stops spinning. My breathing is coming quick and I want to throw up. There is a very real possibility that my baby girl is dead. 

  


(TBC...)


	18. Please

Chapter 18: Please

  


I'm practically hyperventilating in my office when Catherine and Brass rush in. The rest of my team follows, but they hang back in the hall, unsure of what to do. I still don't care. I pound in the numbers, calling her cell phone number over and over, not leaving a message, frantically hanging up and trying again in vain. 

  


I call home, then her cell, and repeat it over and over until Catherine's hand forcefully covers mine as I try to dial again. With a growl I rip my hand away from her, and for a second I see fear flash in her eyes. I still don't care. 

  


"What are you doing, Gil?" She practically yells in my face. I give her no answer, but begin searching my desk for my keys. "What's going on?" She looks at Brass for help, but she overheard our conversation, and the energy that she was radiating before returns full force. 

  


I find my keys and I stand to leave, but she steps in front of me, dancing around to stay in my way. 

  


"Catherine, move!" I bellow. 

  


"No!" She yells back. "If you know the victim you can't work the crime scene, especially not like this!" She tries to soften her tone, but is still fuming. "What are the chances it's her? Not very good. Just calm down." She puts a hand on my shoulder but I shake it off. 

  


"I can't not know, Catherine!" I say as I nod to Brass. He nods back and starts heading for the door, ready to drive out to the crime scene. 

  


"You have to calm down, Gil!" She says, frustrated, turning to me as I head for the door.

  


With a sigh of understanding I turn back, but the words still come out venomously, "Could you calm down if it were Lindsey?" 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Grissom rushes past me in the hall, and Catherine and I share an incredulous stare. 

  


"Come on!" she says, grabbing my arm and starting down the hallway. She stops and starts walking backwards for a second to address the guys, who still stand stunned across from Griss' office. "Guys, you stay here, hold down the fort. I'll call ASAP." At Warrick's nod she starts pulling me full force to the parking lot. 

  


"Cath, where are we going?" I ask, knowing the answer already as we climb in the Tahoe.

  


"Following him. This is just not right." She shakes her head and retreats into herself as we head out. 

  


After a few minutes I can't resist, I have to know, "Cath?"

  


"I don't know what he meant by it. I still don't even know who he thinks is dead." She starts chewing on her bottom lip. 

  


"You don't think..." I ask, my tone loaded so she knows what I'm asking. 

  


"If that's what he meant, then he's damn good at hiding it." She says with a shake of the head. We finally catch sight of Brass's car and begin to follow it.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I get out of the car and just stand there, afraid to move any closer. The yellow crime scene tape, the flashing lights, the coroner's van; they're all familiar and usually comforting at a crime scene. Yet, tonight they hold no solace. Fear takes over every cell in my body and I can feel that I'm shaking. 

  


Brass comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "You ready?"

  


I wipe a hand across my face and I can feel the tears building behind my eyes already. This was it; the reason I hid the most precious thing in my life. But it may not have helped at all. Maybe she should have stayed home; never come here. She wouldn't be dead now. She wouldn't be lying in that ditch. I shake my head. 

  


There's still a chance it might not be her. 

  


Oh, please, God. If I've ever needed you more in my life, I'd be lying. Let it not be her. 

  


Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that Catherine and Sara are here, but I continue the slow walk to the tape. I duck under and trail slightly behind Brass, folding in on myself emotionally and searching for the clinical detachment that I've always relied on in the past. 

  


I gasp when I see the black leotard and rolled pink tights, but force myself to realize that's what every girl in the program would wear. Jim leads me around to the other side of the body so I can see the face, and I try to ignore the blood that seems to cover every exposed inch around her. 

  


Please. 

  


Just this one thing. 

  


I'll never ask for anything ever again in my life. 

  


I stop and stare at the body when her face becomes visible. A single tear rolls down my cheek and I rush to swipe it away. 

  


"Shit!" Brass mumbles under his breath, but I reach out a hand to stop him. 

  


I close my eyes and turn to leave, my breathing shaky. I look up at him and make sure I catch his eyes as I say it. 

  


"It's not her."

  


Thank you. 

  


Thank you thank you thank you.

  


I leave the scene as fast as my pounding heart will allow and move into the parking lot, slumping against Brass' car. I can hear the click of Catherine's heels on the pavement as she and Sara start to move towards me. I swipe again at the tears falling onto my cheeks and try to compose myself to face them when my cell phone rings.

  


I check the caller ID and see "Emma" flashing up at me. I flip it open and my heart starts beating again when I hear her voice. 

  


"Dad? What's up? Why didn't you leave me a voice mail?" Emma's voice sounds almost as panicked as I feel. 

  


"Emma, where are you? Why weren't you answering your phone?" Catherine and Sara stop a few feet away, trying to allow me a bit of privacy. 

  


"I'm heading back to the Performing Arts building. We were up in Jackie's room and I lost reception, my phone wasn't ringing. Why? Dad? What's going on?"

  


"Where are you now?" I start scanning the area, looking for her around the throng of people that have come to look at the novelty of a crime scene. I need to see her, feel her, know that she's alive. 

  


"Heading into the parking lot. What's going on? Dad?" Emma and I lock eyes from across the parking lot, and my phone falls, forgotten, as I to rush over to hold her. She starts sprinting when she sees me running to her, her bag and phone dropped on the ground. 

  


We crash into each other and I hold her to me, never wanting to let go. 

  


"Dad?" She eeks out, nervous at my outburst.

  


"I thought you were dead..." I whisper. "I thought you were dead."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I stop looking at the ground when I hear Grissom take off across the parking lot, dropping his phone on the pavement. Running at him is a brown haired girl with jean shorts over her pink tights and a navy sweatshirt that spouts "LVMPD" in yellow across the front. 

  


"Oh shit." Catherine says as he finally pulls her toward him tightly. 

  


"You'd do the same if it were Lindsey," I say, echoing his earlier sentiment. 

  


"Why would he hide it?" Catherine wonders out loud. 

  


"He must have had a damn good reason..." I mutter, confused as all hell, and feeling incredibly betrayed, and deeply upset, though I can't find any justifications for these emotions. But most of all I feel disgusted with myself for assuming that he was involved with someone, and for never allowing him to explain himself. We really need to talk.

  


Brass makes his way over, relief evident in his features. 

  


Catherine, seemingly slightly annoyed, motions for Brass to come closer. "You knew?"

  


"Yeah." He's suddenly very interested in his shoes. 

  


"Well?" She's fishing for information now, sounding like she's scolding Lindsey for keeping secrets. 

  


"You know, there is a fresh crime scene over there. Somebody's daughter is dead..." He's trying to change the subject, and though I can't blame him, I do want to know the truth. Brass looks up and shakes his head at us. "He had a good reason, and some of it's probably my fault, too. But now's not the time or place."

  


And Brass is right. I grab Catherine's arm and head for the Tahoe. She pulls away from me when we stop by the back to pull out our kits. 

  


"What are you doing? You of all people should want to know!" she practically shouts at me.

  


I sigh and shake my head as I open the tailgate. "Catherine, I do want to know. But not now." I can see Grissom and the girl, still embracing in the parking lot, and I feel like a voyeur. Knowing that he thought his daughter was dead, I view his outburst differently; I see the last month differently. I'm betrayed, but for a higher purpose. His dedication to her came long before he knew me. 

  


That knowledge humbles me a little. 

  


I pull out our kits and hand one to Catherine. 

  


"C'mon. We have a job to do. The rest can wait." She's left staring at my back as I head down to the crime scene, determined to process this scene and help this poor girl. Somewhere, she has a father, too. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Emma?" I say as I shake her a bit. She's slept on the couch in my office all night while I sat here doing paperwork. I couldn't bring myself to be more than a few feet away from her. Now, shift's just about over, and I've paged everyone to meet me in my office.

  


"I'm up." She slurs back to me, and I smile down at her. 

  


"They're on their way. You sure you want to be here?" I don't even want to be here, why would she?

  


"It's cool dad." Her smile is like my personal heaven, and it calms me. Just then, the first of my team knocks on my door. 

  


Within a few minutes my whole team, including Brass and Greg, have assembled in my office. Everyone's eyes are darting nervously to Emma, who's sitting on the corner of my desk, even though they try to keep it from being obvious. 

  


"Everyone," I start with a nervous clearing of my throat, "This is Emma, my daughter." 

  


Though I'm beyond nervous, she seems comfortable somehow, and shares a blinding smile with them. Brass is the first to make a move. 

  


With a smile he leans over and offers her a hand. "Captain Jim Brass." They shake hands and soon everyone's introducing themselves. Warrick and Nick were next, both with large smiles and an air of understanding about them. Sara was the next to introduce herself, offering both Emma and me a smile. Catherine offered a "Nice to meet you," but was uncharacteristically stoic. Greg was the last to stand up and, smiling like an idiot, welcomed Emma to the lab, and kissed the back of her hand.

  


I just shook my head. I don't think he caught my death-glare, but Nick and Warrick did, and tried to suppress their laughter. 

  


"I've heard so much about all of you, it's nice to finally be able to put a face with a name." Emma said, still smiling at everyone. 

  


"So," I draw the attention back to myself, "You're all probably wondering about a lot right now. I guess it's best to start at the beginning."

  


"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth." Emma rattles off, then she stops, turning bright red. "Sorry. Joke from school: theology class." She adds with a shrug as she laughs nervously. "We can probably skip through all of that."

  


"Anyway," I say, putting a reassuring hand on her back, "I never wanted to deceive any of you, it just kind of worked out that I did."

  


"And that's partially my fault," Jim interjects, raising a hand. Jim starts to tell the story of Jessica Miller, and everyone listens with rapt attention, even Emma. 

  


As Jim's talking, I feel the torture of keeping Emma a secret being lifted. Maybe all secrets aren't meant to be kept. It's almost as if I've been granted a second chance at life; my hearing is returning, Emma's alive and well and with me. I won't let my new found outlook go to waste. 

(TBC...)


	19. Pop Tarts

Chapter 19: Pop Tarts

  


Emma rushes past me and flies into her room, shutting the door behind her. She's running late for the intensive and will barely make it there on time even if she leaves now. I slowly make my way back into my office when she comes tearing out of her room and through to the living room, rummaging through her bag and sighing contentedly when she sees that she has everything. She mumbles to herself as she rushes back into her room, emerging with a pair of mesh shorts over her rolled black tights and a long sleeved shirt covering her green leotard. She rounds the corner and plants a kiss on my cheek as she pulls her hair back in a messy ponytail. 

  


"Bye Dad, I'll be back right after class!" She says as she flies out of the door. I hear the engine of the car roar to life and smile, settling down at my desk. 

  


The death of her classmate, as horrific as it was, seems to be accidental. She fell into the ditch, hitting her head in several places and dying of an intra cranial hemorrhage in her brain. It turns out what I thought was blood had been the wash off of some red dye used in a recent pep rally. 

  


The ladybug key chain was pure coincidence, but as it turns out a few of the other girls had ribbed she and Emma for their similar looks and she had taken the rest of her keys off of her ring so that they'd even had the same keys. I mentally note to talk to Emma when she comes home. She had seemed upset when she found out who it was, but in her crunch to get to class she had focused on her task. 

  


I pull a few files out of my briefcase and start to read and sign them methodically, the simplicity of the task lulling me into a false sense of security after the last few emotional hours. When the words begin to blur together I put the files back in their place and head to the kitchen, searching for something that can be construed as a meal. 

  


Seeing very quickly that I'll need to go shopping, I start a list as I fail to find each item I'd like to eat. I settle for a package of pop tarts I find in the back of the cabinets, not bothering to heat them up, and add it to the list, knowing Emma likes them. 

  


Finishing up the pop tart, I change into a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt, then make the daily rounds: each insect gets water and food and an approving smile. Satisfied that everyone's been fed I fall into bed, sleep claiming me easily. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I'm startled awake, but not sure by what. I stay very still, listening to silence, and wonder if I was just dreaming. A rustling and disgruntled muttering of obscenities breaks through the silence as I turn my head, finding that it's almost five in the evening. I rub the sleep from my eyes and stretch as I get up, slowly making my way out to the kitchen. 

  


Emma stands in the middle of the kitchen, tears welling in her eyes, her lip quivering just a bit, and when she sees me her whole body seems to fall in defeat. I slowly move toward her, a question in my eyes. She just purses her lips and looks at the floor, staring at a steaming pile of macaroni in a puddle of water and the pot (whose clatter to the floor had interrupted my sleep) was lying askew a few feet away. 

  


"I..." She looks at the floor, a tear escaping one eye, then back at me. "I didn't want to wake you up..." Her voice cracks, "I just wanted to surprise you is all."

  


She looks so sad and alone that I know something else is behind her mood. I smile at her and, avoiding the mess on the floor, move over to put an arm around her shoulders. She lays her head on my chest and stares out into nothingness, deep inside her own thoughts. 

  


"C'mon. We'll clean this up." I squeeze her to me quickly, and then pull back, searching for her assent. She nods, forcing the beginnings of a smile and moving to pick up the pot. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"I'll cook tomorrow. I'll even go to the store!" Emma announces happily, stuffing the last of her pizza crust into her mouth. 

  


"What are you going to cook?" I take another bite and lean back, setting my feet on the coffee table to mirror her position next to me. 

  


She smiles, reaches into the box and pulls out another slice teaming with toppings, and turns back to me. "Leftover pizza." 

  


"Cute," I warn. While we were waiting for the pizza to arrive we talked. Emma's safety this morning and a deep sleep had lulled me into a sense of security, as had finding her here when I woke up. Emma's day, however, had been tempered with stress due to the untimely demise of her classmate. She didn't care to talk much about it, but she seemed happier after she cried a little and talked about it. 

  


She still seems preoccupied, though. 

~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Griss? Got a minute?" Catherine peaks her head into my office. I nod and put down the assignment slips I had been preparing for tonight. 

  


"What's up Cath?" I ask as I lean back into my chair. She's.... unreadable, and that unnerves me. Unlike Sara, I've always been able to read Catherine; I can implicitly know when she's upset with me, when she's done something wrong and needs me to back her up, when she's hot on a case... But then again Catherine's never fallen in the realm of romantic interest for me, either. 

  


Catherine sits across from me, staring at me plainly and resting her head on her hand. "How's Emma doing?"

  


"Not too bad. We're both still..." I choose my words carefully, knowing full well she's not truly concerned about her well-being, "shaken up." 

  


She stares at me, a slight nod and a bit of a closed mouth smile the only indication that she has any sympathy to my position at all. A tense silence hangs for a few seconds, until she leans forward and speaks quietly. 

  


"I understand, Gil. If it were me in that position, I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same thing. I just... thought we were closer than that." She looks dejected, and though her reaction wasn't quite the extreme one I had feared, I still felt as if I had betrayed our friendship. 

  


"It was long before you, Catherine, that I had to make that decision. Once it was made, it took on a life of its own. It doesn't mean I don't love Emma, or that I don't value our friendship. I had gone through a lot to stay with her, Catherine. The prospect of losing her..." I push down a lump that has suddenly formed in my throat, "I just couldn't risk it for anything." 

  


Catherine nods and stands, a smile of understanding pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Nothing's gonna happen to her, Gil." She walks out, and I begin to rub the scruff of my beard, now restless. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I circle the body as Sara continues to take pictures, making my own notes quietly. This secluded alleyway is obviously not the primary crime scene, but any further ideas I might have about examining the body are held at bay until David can get here to pronounce the body, though by her slight blue tinge and odor it's apparent she's been dead at least several days over. 

  


Sara stands back and looks at the body, then turns to me, waiting for my attention. I feel her stare acutely, but try to react as little as possible. Instead, I slowly turn my head, raising an eyebrow, though I'm not sure what my question is. She steps closer, even though the only other living person here, a fairly green officer, is at the entrance to the alleyway by his patrol car, far out of ear's reach. 

  


"Waitin' for David." She nods her head up and down, knowing that she just stated the obvious. 

  


"Yeah," I mumble.

  


"Do you think, that, um, maybe, we could get some breakfast? After shift?" As her eyes bore into mine intently, the words tumble out of her mouth in a hush. "Not to see... anything," she back pedals when I don't say anything right away, "just to talk." She smiles a nervous smile at me. "People do that, you know."

  


"I've been known to talk in my day," I say as I smile back at her. 

  


Our eyes are locked in a blatant stare, and after a few seconds she begins to blush under my gaze and drops her head, turning her attention to her camera. "Well?"

  


"I need to get the car back for Emma to take to the intensive..." I think out loud.

  


"Oh." She turns away, thinking that I've turned her down. 

  


"Why don't you come over?" I ask to her back, and she stops moving. "I'll, uh, make... something." I cringe as I remember that in the last few days neither Emma or myself has been able to get to the store. I suddenly get a flash of me serving Sara a Pop Tart with a flourish. 

  


She turns back to me and smiles. In the distance I can hear the familiar sounds of David removing the gurney from the van. We both turn towards the ruckus. 

  


Sara winks at me, then adopts her best pissed attitude. "About damn time David!" 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Hello?" Emma sounds breathless. 

  


"Emma? Is something wrong?" I stop stuffing my briefcase for a moment and lean back in my chair.

  


"No, I just ran from the shower. What's up Dad?" Her breath returns to her and I can hear the smile in her voice. 

  


"Did you get to the store last night?"

  


"No. Our cupboards are still bare," she says apologetically. 

  


"Oh." I rub my forehead. "What do we have in the way of breakfast foods?" The vision of pop tarts returns to me again. 

  


"Well, we're out of eggs, pop tarts, bacon, and granola." I can hear her rustling around. "We have..." she pauses, moves, and starts listing again, "frozen sausage.." Sara won't eat that.... "a half full box of puffed wheat, and a grapefruit. Nope, never mind. I'm eating the grapefruit."

  


"Ok," I sigh. "I'll be home in about fifteen minutes, will you be ready to go by then?" 

  


"Yup."

  


"Ok, see you then sweetheart."

  


I rummage through the papers on my desk and finally find a blank one. The grocery list soon starts to get out of control, and I toss it in the trash, deciding I'll just decide what I want when I get there. I shut down my computer when I see a shadow in my door.

  


"Hey," the shadow says. I look up to see Sara standing there. 

  


"Hi," I say as I close my briefcase.

  


"I'll be by your place around 8:45, and I'll pick up stuff for breakfast on my way, ok? It's the least I can do," she shrugs. All I can do is nod as she leaves, and I sigh in relief. No pop tarts. Not that we had any, anyway. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Sara's standing at my door, a confused look on her face as I come up behind her. "Sorry," I say as I reach around her to unlock it, a sheepish grin on my face, "There was an accident by UNLV, had the roads pretty backed up." I usher her in and take the paper bag from her, the smell of fresh bagels wafting through its pores. 

  


"So then Emma's not joining us?" She says, her expression unreadable, but she's holding her breath just a little, my answer apparently important. 

  


"No, she won't be home until after three." She lets out a small sigh of relief and I just stare at her. I try not to be accusing, but I don't know if I'm all that successful. She drops her head and smiles nervously. 

  


"It's not that I don't like her, because I do. It's just..." She stutters a little and looks at my face, shrugging, "I think we needed to talk. In private."

  


"Oh." I feel a little guilty now, and wordlessly move to the breakfast bar to open the bag. I pull out a smaller bag with cream cheese and strawberry jelly, and left in the bag are a dozen or so various kinds of bagels. I raise an eyebrow at Sara who's been watching my reaction. 

  


"I didn't know what kind you'd like, so I just... got them all." 

  


A tiny laugh blurts out of me as I move around the kitchen getting plates and knives, setting them on the table. I motion with my hands for her to move to the table, which she does with a quiet grace surrounding her. I pour two cups of coffee before joining her. We choose, slice, and dress our bagels of choice in relative silence. Sara smothers a plain bagel in strawberry jelly while I apply a thin layer of cream cheese to my onion bagel, forgoing my usual toasting to savor the freshness. 

  


It's so quiet that I almost jump when Sara speaks. 

  


"I have to apologize." I stare at her while she plays with her bagel. 

  


"For?"

  


"I..." She stops and looks into my eyes, emotions swirling too fast to be identified, and then back at her plate. "Knowing now, about Emma, makes me feel very... selfish." She tucks a hair behind her ear. "I assumed a lot of things, and didn't really know what was going on... made a lot of judgments that I had to rethink."

  


She pauses and looks straight into my eyes, and I see thinly veiled hurt. 

  


"When I came to visit you, and I saw the pink flip-flops and the robe and all, well, I just assumed that it meant you were," she clears her throat, "seeing someone. I didn't give you a chance to explain, and I didn't know about your... your..." She nods her head toward me in a gesture I can only assume refers to my hearing. I nod. 

  


"So I'm sorry. But I'm also hurt." She drops her head again, and her voice creaks slightly. My bagel lies forgotten on my plate as I stare, my whole body listening. "I'm hurt because you didn't trust me enough to tell me about her. I understand why you did it, and what you did, but it makes me feel like I never truly knew you."

  


I boldly reach across the table and take her hand, causing her eyes to snap up to my face. "You have to understand, it wasn't about... denying that she existed because I wanted to keep her a secret, because I was ashamed or unwilling to share her with all of you, but because I feared for her life." I catch her eyes and try to will her to understand how this feels. "Do you know how many times I wanted to tell everyone? To tell you? To put a picture of her on my desk and brag about her?" 

  


I clutch her hand, and lean towards her. "How when I first met you I first thought that there could be nothing better in this world for Emma than to grow up and be just like you? And then I got to know you, and the more I... the more it made me feel like a dirty old man..." I drop my head, ashamed. 

  


"I couldn't say yes to you Sara, no matter how much I wanted to, because you didn't know about the one person most precious to my heart. How could I say yes with that secret still hanging between us? With the possibility of hearing loss for the rest of my life hanging between us? I couldn't." And I can't look at her now. 

  


I hang my head in shame, truly realizing how these secrets have stopped me from ever being close with anyone here; the half-truths and outright lies destroying any chance of happiness I might have had. Her hand in my hair stops all cognitive thought, and I am frozen in place as her nimble fingers glide over my scalp. 

  


"Don't." She whispers, leaning towards me so I can feel her breath on my face, "Don't do this to yourself. I didn't..." I didn't want to make you upset, I just had to be honest with you." My pulse speeds up as she leans her forehead against my temple and lets her hand rest at the base of my skull; her short nails toying with the tiny hairs there. "You did what you had to do to protect her; what you thought was right. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and there's nothing that's happened that can't be fixed."

  


"It's not too late?" I ask quietly, hoping she gets my double entendre.

  


She nuzzles her forehead into me slightly and I can feel her smile. "No. It's not too late."

  


Even with this possibility of a chance to explore our relationship fresh in my head, when I pull her into a full embrace, we both feel that it is nothing more than a hug, a reassurance of the validity of what we've said, and promise to follow through.

  


"Thank you, Sara." I say as I pull back, my eyes locking with hers. After a moment we turn back to our breakfast and resume eating. 

  


"So?" Sara asks expectantly as she begins to spread jelly on the second half of her bagel. I just raise my eyebrows at her. She smiles. "You wanted to brag, didn't you?" 

  


I swallow my bite and smile back broadly, "I have more bragging saved up than I know what to do with." 

  


(TBC...)


	20. Secrets

Chapter 20: Secrets

  


_ Dad, I'll cook tonight. Dinner at 6:30. Love, Emma. _

  


I smile at the note and pull a pen out of my pocket. 

  


_Sounds good. I'll be ready. Love, Dad_

  


I drop my briefcase in my office and check my e-mail, then head to my room, dropping into sleep quickly. 

  


I'm disturbed from my sleep by the shrill ringing of my cell phone, and I blindly grasp for it. "Grissom," I bark. 

  


"Hi there Sunshine," Sara says a little too cheerfully for my liking. 

  


"It's..." I rub my eyes and look at the clock, "2:30 in the afternoon, prime sleeping time. This better be good." While I know I'm being gruff, the last few days have almost inexplicably forged a patch in our relationship that's practically erased the last year. 

  


"Oh, it is. Nick and Greg called, they're heading home now, but before they left they were working on those samples you wanted them to run. All they would say is that they have something and they want to meet up and go over it." She had a smile in her voice, and to my sleepy ears it was just too much to handle. 

  


"So?"

  


"So, we've all maxed out on OT this month already. Ecklie practically ran Greg and Nicky out of the lab. We need a place to get together and talk about this. I volunteered your place."

  


"What?" I spring up off the bed and start looking for my glasses.

  


"It's the most logical choice, believe me. Look, we'll all be over about seven-ish. We can bring pizza or..."

  


"Sarah, Emma's cooking tonight.We were..."

  


"Even better! Don't argue, you won't win. Think about it and you'll realize I'm right."

  


I open my mouth to try to come up with a rebuttal, but there is just nothing. I blame it on my sleep clouded brain. I try to think for a few seconds, but nothing comes out. "Fine. Seven. And you guys owe me. Big." 

  


As she hangs up with the usual pleasantries I head out to the kitchen and search for a pen. 

  


_Sorry Emma, last minute change of plans. Nick, Greg, and Sara will be joining us tonight at 7. Hot case. Can you still cook? Money's in my wallet in my office if you need to go shopping. Thank you. They owe us big time. Really Big. We will go out tomorrow, just you and me. Love, Dad._

  


I stumble back to bed and fall into a fitful sleep.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

When my alarm goes off at six I'm greeted by a wonderful aroma wafting through to my bedroom. I can hear Emma singing quietly to her radio as I get up and start my evening ritual. 

  


When I come out of the shower, my hair still wet and a few buttons on my shirt still undone, Emma meets me with a cup of coffee and a kiss. 

  


"Evening Daddy." She smiles at me and heads back into the kitchen. I follow. 

  


"What are you making?" I ask as I look over her shoulder. 

  


"Doesn't really have a name... pasta, veggies, and chicken, a little garlic and a little wine... mix it all together. Doesn't sound like much but it really is pretty good." I turn away from the cooking chicken to survey the colors on the counter: roasted red peppers, steamed broccoli, artichoke hearts, black olives, all chopped into bite-sized pieces and ready to go. I also notice that she has enough to feed an army. 

  


I sigh deeply, and carefully place a hand on her shoulder, slow enough to not startle her while she's cooking. "I'm really sorry about tonight..."

  


"Hey, it's cool. I just wanted to talk but we can do that tomorrow." She smiles up at me, and while it looks normal on the surface, she's hiding something. It's the same something she's been keeping from me for days, and it's driving me nuts to think that she may have been ready to talk about whatever's bothering her. 

  


"They won't be here for a while, sweetheart, if you want to talk." I pull on her shoulder slightly to get her to look at me. "You don't need to cook for me to talk with me," I add. 

  


She looks back and forth between the dinner and me, and then turns to the chicken. She starts taking it out of the pan and placing it on the plate next to her. "Well, if we have some time... this will only take a few minutes to put together..." 

  


I switch off the burner and lead her over to the table, where she sits in front of her own cup of coffee and stares into it like it holds the secrets of the universe. A few minutes pass by, each of us sipping from our mugs. I stare into my coffee, wondering if maybe the answers are in there. 

  


"You know you can talk to me about anything," I say quietly, almost dreading what could be keeping her so quiet. Scenarios run through my head as she just nods and sighs. What can't she tell me?

  


"I just..." She stops and drags her eyes up to mine, and I see tears starting. "Please just listen?" I nod and reach a hand out, taking hers in mine. "Ok, so, um, I don't have a plane ticket back." She looks at me and is ready to cry. 

  


"Sweetheart, that's not a problem." I let out a huge mental sigh of relief. No plane ticket is nothing compared to what I was thinking. 

  


"No, Dad..." Emma's cut off by the doorbell, and we both turn and just stare at it. I give her an apologetic smile and get up to get the door. 

  


"Sara, you guys are..." I pull the door open, ready to tell my team to get lost, and my jaw drops at who I see standing there. "Maggie, Don... what are you doing here?" Pleasantries are too subtle for me at seeing them. They've come an awfully long distance to just visit. 

  


"Gil," Don reaches out his hand, a stern yet fake smile plastered on his face. "Is Emma here?"

  


"She is." I purposely stay by the door, shaking his hand blindly, blocking their entrance. I feel her move up behind me; she's probably heard what's going on. 

  


"Emma!" Maggie smiles and reaches out her arms. Instead of reaching for a hug, Emma mutters a hello and hides half behind my body. This cannot be a good situation. 

  


"I doubt you're here for a quick visit, so why don't you just tell me what you are here for?" I follow my urge to be protective of Emma and wrap an arm around her shoulders, still blocking the entrance to the house. 

  


"Well, we're here to see if Emma wants to come home." Don looks at Emma, fire in his eyes. I just cock an eyebrow at him. 

  


"Emma, we're willing to talk," Maggie says, a true sadness in her eyes that blind sides me for a moment. 

  


"Talk?" I stare at Don, and he looks back at me, a confused sternness on his face. 

  


"Oh, so she didn't tell you?" He stares Emma down, and I feel her breathing quicken next to me. "Why don't you tell him, Emma?" 

  


I turn to look at her, and her red rimmed eyes are dripping tears, but she's glaring at Don and her mother, her breathing promising a fierce comeback. She takes a deep breath and steps forward. "You make it sound like I'm doing this horrible, ridiculous thing! Like I'm throwing my life away or I'm prostituting myself! I don't understand what you want from me, but I'm sure as hell not making decisions about my life just because it's what you want me to do!" 

  


Emma's breathing heavily through her teeth and Maggie steps forward, tears in her eyes now as well, "Please, honey, we can talk about this."

  


"There was no talking when you threw me out of the house!" she yells as she shies away from Maggie's touch. My mouth drops open and I stare at Maggie and Don. 

  


There is a tense, silent moment. 

  


"You threw her out of the house?" I growl at them. I know I'm not being pleasant and I really don't care. Don squares off with me, trying to intimidate me. 

  


"She refused to be sensible."

  


~~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Greg, I'm serious. If you guys are fooling around with this, Griss is gonna be pissed. I think we totally butted in on a night for him and Emma." I turn around in my seat, meeting Greg's eyes in the back seat while Nick drives.

  


"Sara, would I lie?" Greg tries to smile innocently, but I just stare. "No, I'm being honest now- we really do have something."

  


"We just don't know what," Nick adds. "If he was so busy why did he say yes?" 

  


I stare at Nick and turn back in my seat. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all- I didn't really give him a choice. Nick and I exchange a look, and he just nods. 

  


We make the right onto Grissom's cull-de-sac and as we near his house I can see that something is not right at all. 

  


"Woah, what is going on here?" Nick drawls as we pull up a few spaces away from his front door. 

  


"I don't know- but it can't be good." I add, moving around so I can see better. 

  


"Do you think we should do something?" Greg mumbles from the back seat, enthralled. 

  


We can't hear anything from inside the car, but Grissom is having a very heated conversation with a man slightly younger than him dressed in a business suit. Emma's standing by his side, her face red with tears, having her own yelling match with a woman across from her. The thought crosses my mind that it might be her mother, but from what Grissom told me the other night it doesn't make much sense for her to be here.

  


The three of us watch as they flail their arms and their faces turn red with fury, the argument quickly escalating. Yet, I'm not sure that any intervention is welcome. 

  


Then they all stop. I hear Greg and Nick mumble curses unintelligibly under their breaths as we watch the four of them just stare at each other. A second goes by, and my eyes are drawn to Grissom whose face is turning red, his hands are clenching at his sides, and his posture changes slightly. He looks like he could kill the man in front of him, and in his rage I doubt that he'd stop to think twice. 

  


"Ok, now we step in."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"She is a waste of my time and money! The little unappreciative punk that she is, she can't tell a good thing when it's right in front of her face!" Don's yelling in my face and our screaming match has escalated, only fueled by the sound of the fight Emma and her mother are in. He continues before I can open my mouth. "She's a waste of human flesh is all that she is, learning how to be a whore!"

  


Everything stops. 

  


Did he actually just say that? About my baby girl? 

  


He's breathing heavy and daring me to say something with his eyes. 

  


My pulse rises; I can feel my muscles tightening. My fists clench at my sides and I contemplate hitting him. 

  


I want to hit him.

  


Hard. 

  


I open my mouth, not sure what I'm going to say but preparing some four letter words in my mind, when she pushes up from next to me. 

  


"You Bastard!" Emma screams at him. "You have no right to say those things! I've never given you a reason to think that, ever! I play the dutiful daughter at your parties, clean up after your lazy ass at home, and work my butt of in school with A's to show for it and you call me a waste of skin? And a whore?" Her voice cracks as she moves forward, "A whore? Why? Because I dance?" Her voice rises so she's straining her vocal cords and the words come out raw and unbidden. 

  


Out of the corner of my eye I see Sara, Greg and Nick approaching, slowing to a trot when I stick my hand out behind me, signaling that they're not needed quite yet. 

  


"You think I'm a whore because I don't' want to be like you? Because I want to do what I love? Because you used to encourage me? I'm a whore because I dance? Or because I won't date the idiots you try to set me up with- the slime ball sons of your colleagues who wouldn't know what a gentleman was if it hit them in the face? Is that what you're doing? Then kick me out, because I never want to see your face again! She backs up, looking towards her mother, "I never want to see either of your faces ever again!" Emma runs into the house and I hear her room door slam. 

  


"Get. Off. My. Property. Now." I growl at them. 

  


"Gil..." Maggie tries to plead with me, but I'll have none of it. 

  


"No," I say with a calm rage burning deep in me, "Just leave. I'm done with you both. Don't come back. I'll send for her things." 

  


"They're already on their way." Don spits back at me. He's still in my face, and I'd like nothing more than to hit him right now. Hard. In that perfect face of his. A fist forms at my side. 

  


Thankfully, Nicky picks this moment to step in. "Hey Griss, is there a problem here?" The three walk up like an imposing task force, and surround them at the bottom of the steps. 

  


"No. They were just leaving." I stare hard at them as they leave, Nick and Sara parting to let them through. Maggie's crying hysterically, but I don't really care right now. There had been times in my life when I still felt something for her, when I wondered what it would have been like to be with her for the rest of our lives. I don't feel that now. 

  


Now, she evokes nothing in me. 

  


I watch as they drive their rental Lexus down the street, and still stand guard even after they're long gone. 

  


Sara floats slowly up to my side, the guys quietly behind her. "What happened?" she asks, laying a hand on my shoulder. My breathing's still heavy, my pulse through the roof. 

  


"I don't know." 

  


(Tbc...) 


	21. Letting It All Out

Chapter 21: Letting it all out

  


"Emma?" I knock on her door lightly, desperation in my voice. I can hear her sobs coming from within. I turn around, about to leave her alone, when Sara waves her hand signaling that I should go in. 

  


Nick and Greg are sitting on the couch, looking uncomfortable, Sara's pacing a hole in the carpet. I don't really know why I asked them to stay. I think it's because I'm still upset, afraid I'll do something stupid. Maybe it's because I'm afraid to be alone with her now. 

  


I turn and knock again before slowly turning the knob and entering. She's curled up in a cocoon of blankets in her bed, and I can hear her sniffs as she tries to hide her tears in vain. I close the door behind me, and slowly step into the darkness of the room, approaching her. 

  


"Emma? Sweetheart?" I sit on the edge of the bed and place a hand gently on the ball of blankets, seeing only a shock of hair as any indication that she's truly there. 

  


"I'm sorry," she mumbles, sniffing once more. 

  


"What?" I move onto the bed more, and search out her face. 

  


"I'm sorry, ok?" She sits up and almost yells it at me. Her whole face is red, her eyes are puffy, her nose is running, and she's wiping her face brutally with a ball of tissues. "I'm sorry for not telling you! I'm sorry for being here! I'm sorry for trying to do what I want! I'm sorry for existing, ok? I'm just sorry!" She drops her face to her hands as another wave of tears wracks her. 

  


"No, Emma. No, no, no," I mumble as I pull her convulsive body into my arms. "There's nothing at all for you to be sorry about." I pull her closer to me and do anything I can to comfort her; rub her back, smooth down her hair, brush the tears away, all the while saying this over and over. 

  


I still don't know what's going on- what exactly happened that led to that confrontation, but I do know that it was nothing Emma could have done. The things that flew out of Don's mouth proved to me that he was being unreasonable and downright mean. Even knowing that I'm biased, I still can't find Emma at fault. 

  


"Sweetheart, it's not your fault..." She turns and clings to me tighter than I ever remember her holding me before. 

  


"It...it has to be." She coughs out, defeated. 

  


"No, it's not." I say definitively. After a moment I push her away so I can look in her eyes. They're almost swollen shut. "It's not your fault, ok?" I press a kiss to her forehead, and stand up. "I'll be right back." She nods, and I watch as she swipes at the tears, trying to calm herself down. 

  


I hear whispering abruptly stop as I walk out of her room. Nick, Sara and Greg just look at me expectantly. I stop by the side of the couch and just stand there for a minute. 

  


"We might be a while. You, um, you don't have to stay. We'll make this first priority at work tonight, ok?" I don't wait for a reply, but move off to the kitchen, getting a glass of water. I head straight to the bathroom next, getting a washcloth and run it under cold water until it's soaked through and quite cold. A quick glance reveals that I'm quite the mess myself. I take a second to try to straighten myself out and then head straight for Emma. 

  


I silently hand her the glass as I sit down, and she takes a few big gulps, and then starts coughing wildly. I put it on her bedside table while I rub her back, coaxing the coughing to end. She tries to smile up at me when they slow, the tears now streaming down her face silently. 

  


I take her face in my hands and start wiping away the tears with the wash cloth. She shivers, and pulls her blanket around her tighter, but lets me continue to wipe her face. "It's not your fault," I whisper to her as I concentrate on her eyes, coaxing the blood vessels to close again and return to her porcelain skin. "I don't care what he said to you, or what your mother said to you. It's not your fault. They had no right to do that." I stop for a moment and hold her face in my hands, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. They're blood shot and ragged instead of being beautifully clear. 

  


I want to shake her and ask her why she didn't call me, why she didn't tell me what was going on. But I know that isn't what she needs right now, she needs me to be strong and loving and to protect her. Damn it, that's what I'm going to do. I kiss her forehead again and start moving the cloth over her face, her skin slowly becoming less mottled. 

  


"She said I was a mistake." Emma whispers, causing my ministrations to stop, she's not looking at me when she continues. "She said that I was a mistake and everything I've ever done was wrong. That I ruined both your lives." The tears silently start again, as do the hiccoughs. 

  


"No." I say adamantly, putting a hand under her chin and making sure she's looking into my eyes when I say this. "You weren't planned, but you were _never_ a mistake. Never." I use the cloth to wipe away the tears. "You are a blessing. You have been since the day you were born. There is nothing, nothing in this world more important to me than you and your happiness."

  


I search her eyes, hoping she understands what I'm trying to say. She leans in and clings to me again, and I hold her to me with all my might. 

  


"You've been the best part of my life, Emma. You've kept me going when I didn't think I could go anymore, when I didn't think there was anything left in me."

  


"I didn't do anything, though," She says into my shirt as she clings to me. "I didn't change anything. I don't know why all of a sudden..." Her voice cracks and she stops for a moment to clear her throat. "It was when I asked her about you saying no. She denied it, and I told her that I had talked to you... that she could call you herself if she didn't believe me. Before I knew it we were fighting. She was saying that I was throwing away my life, that I should be more like Don. It was all about dancing. For all the years she's taken me to dance classes and told me how much she's enjoyed watching me, all of a sudden I'll throw away my life if I did what I want."

  


"Apparently Don got tired of telling people I was a dance major. I mean, even I get weird looks when I say it, but he had just had it. He joined in, telling me that I had to grow up. It was just... I swear they just berated me for hours. Then he said I had to make a choice: if I wanted to stay in his house I had to live by his rules. If I wasn't going to be sensible and change majors, I ought to just get out of his house. So I did."

  


"You just left?" I ask, still holding her tight.

  


"Basically. Picked up my keys and stormed out of the house, I stayed with Ann. While they were at work I went back and got my things- packed my whole room up. I took the important things with me and stored them at Ann's house, my car's there, too. Sent a check in to UNLV first thing and booked my flight out here."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

The quiet snick of a door closing makes me turn. From the kitchen I can see him just staring at her door, shifting his weight and his muscles clenching with pent up emotions. I don't think he knows that I'm still here, and I start to open my mouth to alert him quietly, but he turns, and I'm startled by the pure rage I see in his eyes. Of all the emotions I've seen played out in those blue depths I've never seen this.

  


He doesn't see me, he's focused on the living room. His hand moves up from his side, and his fingers are so tense that as they move his whole arm shakes. In all the heated arguments I've had with him, I've never been even remotely worried about his temper Now, I can feel the rage emanating off of him, and it scares me. He pulls his hand up to his shoulder, rubbing away the extra tension and quickly paces into the living room. His pacing grows faster, and I just stare from the kitchen. 

  


"Damn it!" he curses vehemently under his breath as he kicks the side of the couch. His pacing still grows in its frustration and I'm starting to get worried. I drop my head, wondering what I can do when a loud crash brings my head back up in time for me to see Grissom pulling his fist from the hole he just punched in the wall. He stops and just looks from his hand to the wall a few times, then slowly sinks down and leans against the side of his couch, cradling his head in his hands. 

  


I take a few tentative steps forward, and he must hear my shoes on the floor, because he looks up before I can say anything. I move silently and sit in front of him on the floor. This close I can see that there's no longer any rage in his eyes, but it's been replaced by sadness. His eyes are flooded with unshed tears. 

  


"Damn it," he says again, this time softer so I can't tell if he's upset about what's happened, or about me seeing him like this. 

  


"The uh, the guys went home. I stayed and put away the food and..." I don't know what else to say as I stare at his defeated face. I reach out a hand and lay it on one of his. After a moment he twines his fingers with mine, tipping his head down so he's staring at the floor. 

  


We stay like this, unmoving for so long it feels like time has stopped. When he speaks, his gravelly voice startles me. 

  


"I have never wanted to hit someone so hard in my entire life." He says. After a moment he continues, "I can't ever remember being so furious. I just kept thinking that I wanted to see him laid out on the pavement, bleeding... I've..." He stops for a second and clears the lump from his throat. "I've never felt like that before. I don't know what I would have done..."

  


I move my free hand to his hair and just run my hand through it, trying to calm him. I can feel that he's shaking imperceptibly now and I see quiet tears fall from his eyes to the floor. I just continue to sit with him, my mind dumbfounded by this side of him that I've never seen.

  


My mind flies through thoughts and suddenly I'm torn between holding him in my arms, trying to erase his pain and running away as fast as I can. I think about politely excusing myself, but then I feel how tightly he's clinging to my hand and I know that he needs someone right now. I scoot closer and pull him to me. He stiffens for a second, but then clings to me with a desperation that frightens me. All I can do is hold him tighter, letting my hands roam his back, coaxing out the tension and silent sobs. 

  


We only heard the end of the argument, but the scathing words that were thrown were reprehensible and ridiculous. I understand his anger, though not the cause. My thoughts wander to Emma, and her state.

  


"She's sleeping," He says as he pulls away, making me wonder if I said anything out loud. He starts to swipe at his face, but I stop his hands, using my own to gently wipe away the tracks of tears. He grabs my hand and places a soft, sweet kiss on the back of it, then holds it in both of his. "Thank you." He says simply. I can only smile and lay my other hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Where's Grissom?" Catherine asks as I walk into the room, assignment slips in my hand. Nick shoots me a knowing glace, while Warrick just looks confused. Catherine's face shows pure belligerence, disbelieving that I would know before her. 

  


"He won't be in tonight," I say simply. "Warrick, Catherine, there's a DB at the New York, New York for you two. Nick, stay with what you have, and I'm gonna take Greg on a B and E. Any questions?" I say as I hand them their slip and keep one for myself, giving them a half smile. 

  


"Yeah, why isn't Grissom here?" Catherine asks with more venom in her voice than I've heard in a while. "He never takes off unless he's sick or it's an emergency, and even then he would call me!" She announces like a spoiled child. 

  


"That's Grissom's business and his alone, Cath. You have a problem you talk to him about it. He just asked me to hand these out, ok?" I say looking her in the eye before I turn and leave, heading to find Greg and let him know he's going out in the field tonight. 

  


Something's crawled up Catherine's ass lately, and it's really starting to get to me. I'll get to the bottom of it, though. My gut's telling me that she's almost jealous of Emma. I hope that isn't it, because if it were, that would be awfully small of her. 

  


(Tbc...)


	22. Perfect

AN- I wrote the previous two chapters before relating them back to these songs, which are "Perfect" by Simple Plan, "All you Wanted" by Michelle Branch, and "A Place for my Head" by Linkin Park.

  


Chapter 22: Perfect

  


As I turn over a sound registers in my sleep fogged brain. I yawn and stretch, my legs extending over the end of the couch and out from the blanket thrown over me. I don't remember falling asleep, but then again the whole evening feels like a bad dream. I reach a hand out to the coffee table for my watch and come up with a note from Sara. It just says she went to work and to not bother coming in, she'll stop by in the morning. 

  


My watch says it's three in the morning, as does the darkness that surrounds me. But something's out of place. As I rub my eyes, the sound that's registered in my brain takes form, drifting out from Emma's bedroom as words. 

_Hey dad look at me  
Think back and talk to me  
Did I grow up according to plan?  
And do you think I'm wasting my time doing things I wanna do?  
But it hurts when you disapprove all along  
  
And now I try hard to make it  
I just want to make you proud  
I'm never gonna be good enough for you  
I can't pretend that  
I'm alright  
And you can't change me  
  
'Cuz we lost it all   
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry   
I can't be perfect  
Now it's just too late and   
We can't go back  
I'm sorry   
I can't be perfect_

  


The words register in me with perfect clarity; even though it's obvious she put the music on quietly to keep it from me. The verses are so sadly pertinent that I can almost feel my heart breaking for her. I can imagine her curled up in bed, crying.

  


_I try not to think  
About the pain I feel inside  
Did you know you used to be my hero?  
All the days you spend with me  
Now seem so far away  
And it feels like you don't care anymore  
  
And now I try hard to make it   
I just want to make you proud   
I'm never gonna be good enough for you  
I can't stand another fight  
And nothing's alright  
  
'Cuz we lost it all   
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry   
I can't be perfect  
Now it's just too late and   
We can't go back  
I'm sorry   
I can't be perfect_

  


I wonder if I should go in there, if I should barge in and make her talk, or rush in and hold her. I start to move, then fall back on the couch. She needs some time alone. If she needed me she would ask. 

  


Wouldn't she?_  
  
Nothing's gonna change the things that you said  
Nothing's gonna make this right again  
Please don't turn your back  
I can't believe it's hard  
Just to talk to you  
But you don't understand_

  


I feel the anger at Maggie and Don rising again. All her life I was worried about Emma growing up without a father. Now it seems she may live the rest of her life without a mother.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"Oh, hi Sara," Doc Robbins says as he hovers in the doorway to Grissom's office. Even though I'm supposed to be here I still feel like I've been caught doing something wrong. 

  


"Hey Al. Grissom's not here," I manage to stutter out as I stand up from behind his desk, file in hand. 

  


"I know. I was just dropping off some paperwork for him." He holds up a folder then makes his way to the desk, depositing it in the "in" box. 

  


"I'm sure he'll be excited about that." I smile at him, and he offers me a warm smile back. He's always been almost fatherly to me; welcoming, comforting, yet all business somehow. "He should be back tomorrow, but if it's really important I can drop it off for him later."

  


Al gives me an odd look, and I realize what I've said. After the stress of the last few years, no one's reacted well to our newfound comfort level. As odd as it seems, we've fallen into it almost too easily; no fights, no expectations, and no grudges. Apparently no one else around here is as happy with it as we are. 

  


"No, it's not that important." He pauses, looks as if he's going to leave, then turns back. "Is everything ok?" 

  


His words are so cryptic that I have to take a moment to think if I've just misunderstood him. When I realize that I haven't missed anything, I ask, "What do you mean?"

  


"Well, Grissom's not here, Catherine's in a huff... it just seems like something important is going on."

  


Something must show through the mask of indifference I try to put on, because he smiles a little. "You've got a break coming up, don't you?" I nod. "Let's have coffee."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

_I'm sick of the tension_

_sick of the hunger  
Sick of you acting like I owe you this  
Find another place_

_to feed your greed -  
While I find a place to rest  
I want to be in another place  
I hate when you say you don't understand  
I want to be in the energy, not with the enemy  
A place for my head  
Maybe someday I'll be just like you and  
Step on people like you do and _

_Run away the people I thought I knew  
I remember back then who you were  
You used to be calm used to be strong  
Used to be generous but you should've known_

_That you'd wear out your welcome _

_now you see how quiet it is all alone _

  


I've spent the last forty-five minutes listening to the play list Emma's compiled. Sad and angry lyrics float out to me while I doze on the couch, alternately exhausted and worked up by the day's events. This song is angry, driving rock, and it raises my blood pressure. I've been riding this emotional and musical roller coaster with her, my own emotions purging through the unfamiliar but expressive song lyrics. I'm about to go see if she's okay when the music suddenly gets louder. 

  


_You try to take the best of me_

_go away_

  


I sit up just in time to see the bathroom door slam shut. As I get closer I can hear her violent retching. 

  


"Emma?" I slowly push open the door, and see her body thrown over the toilet, her breath coming fast and ragged. She looks up at me, the picture of pitiful, and I sink to my knees to bring her to me. I hold her to my body, rocking gently. "It'll be ok, Emma. You and I, we'll make it ok."

  


The music changes and floats out again, surrounding us. 

  


_If you want to  
I can save you  
I can take you away from here  
So lonely inside  
So busy out there  
And all you wanted  
was somebody who cares___

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


"What you have to understand is that Catherine thinks she's perfect," Al blurts out as soon as the waitress leaves us with our coffee. I'm kind of taken aback by this, but I lean towards him, raising an eyebrow in a sign that I'm interested.

  


"She was one of the first to be taken on to a 'remodeled' night shift. She thinks she has seniority, when she really doesn't. She has longevity." He takes a sip of his coffee and continues, "She helped train several of the techs, Nick and Warrick. It makes her feel like she has a privileged position around here. She likes to pretend that she's the only one who remotely knows Gil, when the truth is Brass and I were hanging out with him at bars years before they even worked together."

  


"Not that I'm not interested... because I really am... but why are you telling me this?" I ask as I play with my coffee mug. The diner is relatively deserted save for a couple of college kids, making our candid conversation feel very safe. 

  


"Because I think you need to know. Catherine came in tonight complaining about her authority being undermined and such, and David said he overheard Nick talking about an 'incident' tonight. I may not be a CSI, but I can put two and two together." He smiles a little and sips his coffee. "You have to understand that Catherine likes to mother, likes to be in control and have the spotlight. Even if it's a negative light. Now that there's something about Gil she didn't know, and you're spending more time with him, well, she's losing ground around here." He pauses for a minute and thinks. "She's possessive, and territorial. And everything has to go her way."

  


"I've noticed that before," I say with a sad smile. Doc just lets out a gruff laugh. 

  


"We all have. And I don't truly think it's something she's cognitive of. She feels like she has some claim on Grissom..."

  


"Have they..." I ask, leaning forward.

  


"No." He replies with a chuckle, "Not that you could tell. I think that she kinda latched onto him after her whole fiasco with Eddie. Talk about a soap opera in the lab... but that's for another time. She sees Grissom as a pseudo-husband, a work-mate if you will. His lack of social life has just added to that delusion for her. She probably would try something if she ever thought he was interested, but she's like a sister to him. An annoying, overbearing big sister at that. Who wants his job."

  


After a second we both fall into laughter easily. 

  


"Listen, I'm not trying to make Cath look like some monster, but I have a little more insight than you've had the chance to accumulate. She's good at assuming whatever facade she needs to get the job done, but when she lets her inner self come out to play, it's often a bratty inner self that we're not used to seeing. Don't let her get to you, or Griss, that's the last thing he needs right now."

(Tbc)


	23. Making It All Go Away

Chapter 23: Making It All Go Away

  


"No match," Sara says, frustration pouring off of her. The two slivers of wood come out from under the microscope and her hands hit the table with a bang, causing me to turn and look at her. Her hands rub her forehead, no doubt heading off a headache. We've been working on this double homicide for days now, with no suspects and no end in sight.

  


"Back to square one," I add, also feeling the frustration rise within me. Neither of us wants to see this one go up on the board, but we both know that is exactly where it's headed. It irks her just as much as it does me when a case goes unsolved. Not to be egotistical- but the thought of a criminal being smarter than us is not only aggravating, it's also frightening. 

  


I glance at my watch and see that shift's over, and has been for quite a while. "C'mon," I say as I start to replace the evidence we've been working with, "Let's go get breakfast." She just looks at me for a second before she accepts, then turns to start putting away the evidence she was working with. 

  


She stops and turns to me, "Don't you have to be home?"

  


"For what?" I ask, still working at the table next to her. 

  


"Well," she starts cautiously as she re-packs the pieces of wood in front of her, "Don't you need to get the car back for Emma?" She pauses, and then backpedals with that tiny shake of her head she gets when she's nervous. "Not that I don't want to go out with you, because I do. Not that this is... we're just having breakfast. But I wouldn't want..."

  


"Stop!" I say as I put my hand on her arm. Though watching her ramble is amusing, she's on the verge of making a fool of herself. I smile as she looks up sheepishly. "Emma's intensive ended last week, and she didn't say anything about needing the car. As for the breakfast," I hold out my hand and take the evidence bags from her, "it can be anything you want." 

  


I watch as a genuine smile graces her face. As I smile back, an evil twinkle forms in her eyes. "Anything I want?" she asks in a seductive tone. I can just nod. "Good, because I want pancakes!" She gives me a wink, then saunters out of the layout room, a spring in her step. "C'mon Grissom!" Echoes from down the hall, and I just shake my head and start to follow her.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


After Sara's demand for pancakes, I had no choice but to bring her to IHOP. When she saw the big sign as I pulled in, she fell into fits of laughter. A comfortable quiet surrounded us as we got to our table, read our menus, and gave our orders. The ease with which we've fallen into friendship again has been astounding, almost too good to be true, really. 

  


Sara leans back into the booth and props her feet up on the bench next to me, letting out a sigh as she sips on her coffee. My left hand unconsciously covers her boots, and she flashes me a small smile. 

  


"I am so past aggravated now." Her smile and manner betray her words. 

  


"Care to share why?" My hand starts massaging her ankle through her jeans while my other one plays with my coffee mug.

  


Her dreamy look is so far removed from any expression I've seen on her face lately that it's a novel surprise. "No, not really."

  


Now I'm confused. I thought she would have mentioned it because she wanted to talk about it. I wrack my brain for a proper response when her sparkling eyes meet mine. The tense nervousness that's been following us like a rain cloud has all but dissipated, leaving us amazingly open to each other. 

  


She turns her leg so that the toe of her boot rubs up and down my side. "Make it all go away," she says, barely above a whisper with a seductive smile on her face. The waitress comes back with our food, so I send her a quick wink as I let my hand slide up to rest on her calf. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


My hand rests on her lower back as we leave the IHOP and she leans into me slightly as we head for my car. She yawns as I lead her over to the passenger side. 

  


"Tired?" I ask as I open the door for her. 

  


She nods and hides another yawn as she gets in. I stifle my own yawn as I get in and start the car, heading out to drop her back at CSI to get her car. 

  


"Can you just drop me at my apartment?" She asks, placing a warm hand on my arm. 

  


It takes a minute before I reply; the request, like many things about Sara Sidle, baffles me. "Sure, I guess..." I start looking for a side street to turn around on. 

  


"That way," she says as she moves her hand up my arm to play with the sleeve of my shirt, "You have an excuse to pick me up tonight."

  


A smile breaks out on my face and I turn quickly to see her matching smile. "I love the way you think." She just raises her eyebrows at me quickly, the seductive glimmer not yet gone from her face. I cover her hand with mine for a second, then get back to driving. 

  


The car ride is quiet, but charged. Our progressively rising comfort level has allowed the level of flirtation to rise, which has caused an increase in the overall sexual energy of our relationship. I keep trying to shove it into scientific terms, cause and effect; because I'm afraid once I let myself go I won't be able to stop, especially now. 

  


I feel every hair, every pore, every skin cell on my arm react as she idly lets her short nails play on my forearm, her hand moving with me as I'm driving. My whole being, mind and body, is electrified and alert whenever she's near, tormented when she's away, and utterly drawn to her. Like the copy machine in ballistics that messes with cell phone reception, she confounds, contorts, and disrupts every mechanism within me and causes all kinds of chaos. 

  


I pull up in front of her apartment complex and put the car in park as I turn towards her. We stare for a moment, then she lowers her head and moves her hand from my arm to get her purse. The energy in the car has drawn us closer to each other, and when she tips her head back up with a smile, we're barely separated. 

  


"See you later then?" She almost whispers through her smile. 

  


"10?" I can feel us moving unperceptively closer to each other.

  


"Perfect." 

  


Sara turns to get out of the car, her hand on the handle and I feel something in me fall flat. Before I know it, though, she's catapulting herself towards me, her lips landing on mine with a crash. She pulls away before I have a chance to react, and starts out the door. 

  


I reach out and grab her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She turns back, sitting heavily on her seat as the door snicks shut. Her teeth worry her lip, and there's fear in her eyes. My hand moves to caress her face, my thumb softly prying her lip from her teeth then running over its rosy smoothness. I move in and softly kiss her forehead then her nose. Next comes a kiss for both cheeks. Then, I slowly move to conquer her soft lips. The kiss lingers for a moment, then I pull back and look into her eyes, my hand still cupping her cheek. 

  


"Thanks." Sara mumbles, her eyes half open. 

  


"For what?" My thumb strokes her cheek, I want to kiss her again, I want to taste her. I want to hold her and never let go. 

  


"For making it all go away." She leans back into me for a soft peck, then saunters out of the car, a soft smile spreading on her face. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


I feel the same smile on my face and in my heart as I walk into the town house. I give Emma, who's sitting at the kitchen table, a quick smile as I pass her and head into my office. She bounds in behind me, as usual, for a hug and kiss, which is gladly given. 

  


"Busy?" I shake my head no in response to her question. "Tired? Headache?" Again, I shake my head. "Good." She takes my hand and pulls me into the kitchen, where the table is filled with pamphlets and papers that she's obviously been pouring over. The mess looks worse than my desk on a paperwork night. She drags me over to the breakfast bar where pages are in a neat order and puts a pen in my hand. 

  


"Sign here, here and here. Initial here and sign here. These need your information filled in, signatures here and here, and this," she says, rustling for a page on the table, "needs your John Hancock, too." She looks up at me, pleased with herself. 

  


"What are all of these?" I ask, taking the paper from her hand and reading it over, letting my gaze fall to the rest of the pages she's laid out for me. 

  


"Been working all day," She says with a deep breath. "They're a mixture of transfer papers from both universities, scholarship papers, a couple are bank papers... I'm getting my bank accounts transferred here... uh.. I think that's all for now. I'm still working on some other stuff. I had my mail re-routed to here today." She stops and thinks, picking up a piece of paper and starts to read it, reminding herself of her other tasks. "Ann called, my car's on its way down. We'll need to pick it up in two days. She sent my boxes fed-ex, so those should be here in a day or so. We got a delivery today of some of the stuff Mom and Don sent... really random stuff, too. I'm going to the DMV tomorrow, and an interview with UNLV's Dean of Students the day after that." She stops and smiles up at me. " I think that's about it."

  


I regard her for a moment, taking in the proud smile along with the dark circles under her eyes. She's hiding how much the last week's effected her, and has refused to let me help her with the mountain of paperwork it's going to take to transfer her to UNLV and move her here.

  


I take the papers from her hands and put it on the counter with the pen so I can reach down and take both of her hands in mine, bringing them up to hold close to my heart. I shift them both to one hand so my other can tip her now timid face up to mine. 

  


"Why won't you let me help you with this?" It comes out as a whisper. I've been avoiding pushing the issues of late, hoping that she would be able to come to me if she needed me. I'm worried, though, that in trying to be perfect and independent she won't come to me, even if she does need me. 

  


That may be my greatest fear. 

  


"You... you've done enough, Dad." She chokes out as tears form in her eyes. She turns her face away and pulls back a hand to swipe at the tears. 

  


"Come here," I say as I pull her to me in a hug. "I've done nothing. Let me help you."

  


The next words out of her mouth surprise me as much as they break my heart. 

  


"You loved me, Dad. And you wanted me." She wraps her arms around me. "That's more than enough for me."

  


I know I need to do something, say something, so I just hold her tighter for a minute while I wrack my brain. 

  


I kiss the top of her head. "I will always love you, no matter what. And you are always wanted." I push her back a little and wipe away her tears, something I've done far too many times lately. "Go get dressed, clean up."

  


"What?" She asks, moving to shuffle papers on the table. I pull her away from them. 

  


"Let's go out. You've been in this house since you got back from the intensive last week. We'll do something fun." Her eyes seem to shine a bit. "Just you and me, ok?" 

  


"Ok," She says smiling as she retreats to her room. As soon as she's out of sight I move to the table, gathering all of the papers up as orderly and as quickly as I can, and stuff them into the file folder she has lying there. I take the few left on the breakfast bar, too, and head straight into my office, filing the folder away in the middle of a study on dung beetles. 

  


I head to my own room and change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and freshen up a bit. The papers, from now on, will be my responsibility. I want her to rely on me as her dad, a caretaker, and not like someone who owns a lost puppy. She's my daughter, and I'm going to start taking some responsibility. 

  


"Dad?" She calls from the kitchen. I grab my sneakers and head out to her. 

  


"Yes, sweetheart?"

  


"What happened to all the paperwork?" She looks a little lost, even though the little bit of make-up she's put on made her face seem less drained. 

  


"I made it all go away." I say with a shrug. 

  


She looks at me through slitted eyes, "Dad..."

  


"I'll take care of it, don't think about any of it for another second, ok?" I sit down at the table and put my shoes on. 

  


"But..."

  


"No buts. Stop thinking, ok?" I feel as if I'm scolding her, but it really is for her own good. 

  


"My mind's empty." She says as a smile grows on her face. "Thank you, Daddy."

  


"For what?" I ask as I stand, taking her hand in mine. 

  


"For everything."


	24. Victoria's Secret

Chapter 24: Victoria's Secret

  


While I had always wished that Emma had grown up all of those years with me, rationally I knew that there were some things that a girl was better off going through with her mother at her side. Like her first boyfriend, her first pair of high heels, and prom dress shopping for instance. Growing up, there are just certain things that mothers do for daughters that could never be replaced by a father. Like buying her first training bra, or talks about boys, or going through puberty. 

  


While I could have handled these things, I probably wouldn't have handled them well. Though who knows what I would have actually done. 

  


Point being, while I knew Emma was growing up, I wasn't very involved. I didn't grill boys before first dates or send her back to her room to change the first time she wore a skirt that was too short or too much make-up. It was something that I didn't participate in, so while I was cognitive of it, I didn't experience it. Now I almost wish I had. Maybe that would have assuaged my shock as I stand here in front of the washing machine, staring at the items I'm pulling out. 

  


I thought I'd be helpful and do the load of laundry Emma had sitting in the basket on her bed. Bad idea. Very bad idea. She said she wouldn't let me near her laundry because she was afraid I'd shrink her dance wear. I figured that as long as I read the tags on everything I'd be fine and doing her a favor. Turns out she was doing my heart a favor by not letting me near her clothes. I've seen the leotards and tights, the shorts that were just a little too short by my taste and the tank tops that bared more cleavage than I was happy with. 

  


But I wasn't familiar with the thongs, or the red satin bra with the little pink tags. 

  


I hold them up in front of me by two fingers, slightly repulsed and slightly fascinated, as I look for the washing directions on them. At this point I'm fairly sure I wasn't expecting her to have the same little Strawberry Shortcake underwear she had when she was five, but I'm still not sure what I was expecting. An old conversation pops into my head:

  


_"What is Victoria's Secret, I wonder?"_

  


_"Beauty, Grissom. Remember?_"

  


I hang them on the drying rack next to the washer, still feeling unsettled but not sure exactly why or what to do about it. Beauty. Right. I head back up to my office where I've been finishing up some paperwork for Emma while she's out at her interview with UNLV's Dean, the idea of beauty still on my mind. 

  


It occurs to me that if this were Sara's underwear I'd have no problem with it. But Sara's not my daughter. I realize that I do have a problem with Emma wearing those kinds of things. She would wear those kinds of things for men, like I would want Sara to wear them for me. 

  


Oh, this is a very bad train of thought. 

  


I turn and head straight into the kitchen, filling a glass with cool water and gulping it down. I pick up the phone and stare at the numbers, two sets of digits swirling in my brain before I easily choose Sara's over Catherine's. I nervously play with my beard while I wait for her to pick up. 

  


"Hello?" her voice floats through the phone to me. 

  


"What kind of underwear do you have on?" I blurt out. 

  


"Wouldn't you like to know!" She flirts back at me playfully, but I can only give her a groan at how my intentions, as per usual, have come out wrong. "Ok," she relents, "what's going on Gris? It's obvious you're not really interested in my underwear."

  


"Oh but I am," I reply, "Just not right now. You once told me that Victoria's Secret was beauty..."

  


"Yeah, so?" 

  


"Emma has some..." I can barely get it out, and Sara saves me from having to say anything with an understanding 'ahhhh.' "Yeah," I reply. 

  


"Well, besides that Victoria's Secret makes good quality, if not overpriced underwear, pretty underwear makes girls feel... well... sexy." She pauses, and I feel my brow wrinkle. "You probably weren't looking for that as an answer, were you?" She asks sheepishly. 

  


"No, not really."

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


She's doing it again. Catherine has that face on, the one that says, "Stay away from me, I'm in a bad mood and everything I do is right and you're obviously wrong." I've been avoiding her ever since Gris gave out assignments at the beginning of shift fairly successfully. At this point we're either going to have an all out screaming match, or I'm just going to punch her. Neither would be productive. 

  


I'm wedged in the back of the drying room's small closet, searching for a piece of evidence from a cold case to compare with my current one when Catherine and Warrick walk in, both in a huff. I still my movements, curiosity overcoming me. I can't see them from where I am, so I stay quiet and listen to the heated comments as the drying room door clicks shut. 

  


"Cath, you gotta snap out of it!"

  


"Snap out of what?" She's playing dumb, I can hear it in her voice. 

  


"You know what? Jealousy doesn't suit you." Warrick lays it out plain and simple. Maybe this will keep me from having to lay her out. "We can all see it, and it's stupid, Cath. You're jealous because all of a sudden Grissom has a life, has a daughter, has things to do off hours and won't pick up our slack anymore. All of a sudden you're not the only one with a kid to brag about around here, and you lose it."

  


"You know what, Warrick? Maybe you should mind your own business!" Her voice is desperate, like she knows she's been caught.

  


"It's been a shock to all of us; first finding out so much about his past, then having him actually working normal hours instead of picking up all the slack for us, and him and Sara finally getting along again..." He's practically pleading with her now. "So what if it means we have to be a little more responsible about what we're doing? Maybe pick up a few more holidays here and there? He's been letting us slide for a while- he's done a lot more for each of us than a normal supervisor would for his CSI's. Hell, Ecklie would have had us all fired by now. Come to think of it, maybe Gris' people skills aren't as bad as everyone thinks. He's saved our asses enough times. So what if he can only dedicate one hundred percent to CSI now instead of one hundred and ten percent? He's happier than we've all seen him in years, and it's not like things around here will fall apart! Maybe it's not such a bad thing, Cath!

  


"What makes you think you know what's good or bad for him? For any of us?"

  


"What makes you think you do?"

  


That shut her up. 

  


"You know what, Cath? We all see the shit you pull... and we used to let you get away with it because you're a good CSI. If I were you I wouldn't expect much of that anymore. If you're not gonna be forgiving, hell, we're not either." Warrick opens the door and stalks out, Catherine follows a few seconds later with a heavy sigh. 

  


Warrick's right... incredibly insightful, even. There will be a lot of changes around here, now. That doesn't make it bad. 

  


My neck starts to protest the position I've been holding, so I carefully stretch it and resume my search for the evidence bag. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


It's almost the end of shift, and with a devilish smile I'm making my way to Grissom's office, folder in my hand. He's sitting, reading out of a large textbook and making notes on a legal pad next to him. I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching him work. I'm mesmerized by the way his forearm flexes in a seductive dance as he writes, by the way his crystal eyes fly over the page and how his face contorts when he has to stop and re-read something. Finally, I raise my hand and rap lightly on the doorway. 

  


He looks up and smiles, and I slowly enter, closing the door behind me. He raises an eyebrow at me, but I just shrug, smile still on my face, as I sit across from him to toss the file on his desk. He barely looks at it before putting it in his pile. I tip my head in a question. It's amazing how much we can communicate without words once we started listening to each other.

  


"I'm sure it's all there," he says with a smile. I just wink at him as I stand, moving to the far corner of his office and hooking my index finger to him, asking him to follow me. He stands and follows me to the corner of his office that provides the most cover behind his shelves of experiments. "Yes?" he asks as I pull him close to me, leaning his head close to mine. His blue eyes are shining sapphires, and I can't help but wind an arm up around his neck, leaving mere inches between our bodies. 

  


"I believe there's some unfinished business from this morning's phone call." I say in a conspiratorial whisper. 

  


Gris rubs his nose against mine, "Really?"

  


I nod, and pull back a bit, moving my hand up to my shoulder and ever so slowly pull the neckline over reveal a black lace bra strap. His fingers move up my side to lift the tiny strap in his grasp. He runs his thumb over the lace, then gently puts it back in place before pressing a tiny kiss to the skin on my collarbone next to it, finally covering it back up with my shirt. 

  


"Victoria's Secret?" He asks, his hands roaming over my back. 

  


I nod. "But I don't need Victoria's Secret to make me feel beautiful or sexy. All I need is for you to look at me the way you are now," I whisper out to him. 

  


"You are such a tease," He whispers as he lets his lips float over mine, touching my lips with only the lightest of contact. 

  


"Dinner tonight?" I ask before I press into his lips for a sweet second. 

  


"Anywhere you want to go." He announces, pressing back. "I'll pick you up at seven?" 

  


I moan in the affirmative, my mouth occupied by kissing up the soft flesh of his neck. He takes my chin in his hand and slowly melds his mouth with mine in a deep kiss. Then he takes a step back, putting almost a foot of space between us, his hands landing on my shoulders. I lick my lips, already missing the contact. "Ok, out." He says with a deep breath. "You're not allowed to do this to me at work." 

  


I just smile a half smile at him, giving him a devilish wink. I know I shouldn't play games. The last thing we need is a problem in the office, but I couldn't resist. Since our conversation this morning I've found my mind has decided to supply me with images of the two of us entwined in incredibly erotic positions at the rate of about one every five minutes. This personalized fantasy playing in my mind has made working very difficult today. I wonder if he knows what he does to me. 

  


"Yes, sir, boss, sir," I say playfully with a mock salute. He just laughs and turns back to his desk. I reach out and grab his hand quickly pulling him back to me. "Seven?" He nods. "I'll come up with someplace nice," I add, and he smiles, ready to pull away again. "One more thing," I say, then lean up to his ear to whisper, "If you're good, maybe I'll let you see the matching underwear." I capture his earlobe between my teeth for a second, then pull away and saunter to the door. I turn to find that he's still standing there, stunned, and watching me with a hungry look in his eyes. God that's sexy. 

  


I just smile, wink, and leave, finally taking a breath as I get a few steps away from his door, the huge smile spreading on my face unstoppable. 

  


(TBC)


	25. Getting Ready

Chapter 25: Getting Ready

I wonder if she knows what she does to me. Trying to get any work done after Sara's little visit was totally impossible, so I just packed up and headed back here. Walking in, the first view I'm assaulted with is boxes. 

"Dad?" Emma calls from her room. 

"Yes, sweetheart?" I call back as I make my way through the maze of boxes, eyeing a treadmill in the corner next to her room. Leaning in the doorway, she comes into view as she stumbles back out of her closet, moving her feet to the tiny areas on the floor that aren't covered by boxes, clothes,1 and various other things. She flails her arms about a bit to get her balance, then smiles sheepishly at me. "What's all this?" I ask. 

"Boxes from Ann and..." She pauses, a look of deep pain crossing her face before she shakes it away and moves on, "Well, they all got here today. About twenty minutes ago, actually. I've been trying to put everything away." She shrugs, looking at the floor, then at me. "So, you ready to go?"

"Where?" I ask, leaning in for a kiss then maneuvering to get to my office. 

"To pick up my car!" She yells down the hall after me. "Please tell me you can still do it?" She appears in the door way, a puppy dog look on her face. 

"Of course, let's go," I say, picking up my keys again and following her through the boxes out to the front door. 

She looks up at me, grabbing her own purse and keys from the breakfast bar on the way out. "I promise to clean it all up," she says looking slightly embarrassed. I just give her a pat on the shoulder as we get into the car. 

She turns the radio on low as we get on the road, and I glance at her nervously. She's looking over some paperwork, and I wrinkle my brow. "What's that?"

"Oh, I'm gonna head right to the DMV to get my new license and plates and such. No reason to wait. Since I'm out of state I needed some paperwork... birth certificate... that kind of thing." I nod and she accepts it, going back to arranging her papers, then puts them carefully back in her small purse, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and perching them on her head. 

Stopped at a red light, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. Just say it. Say something. 

"I did your laundry today," I finally spit out. Emma's head tips down and I can see red creeping up her cheeks. 

"I saw." She starts playing with her watch, not looking at me. 

Maneuvering through the rush hour traffic I try to come up with something to say. "I didn't shrink anything, did I?" Wow, that was dumb. 

"No, no..." I see her look at me from the corner of her eye. "It's not like..." Emma begins uncomfortably, "They're just good quality, and they fit nice. It's not like anyone sees them besides me. And you," She coughs nervously. It's kind of cute. She starts playing with her hair, probably at as big a loss for words as I am. 

"I just wasn't expecting that, is all..." I finally mumble out. She smiles sheepishly at me. 

"I told you not to do my laundry, you should learn to listen to me," She adds with a wink. I can only laugh as we continue driving down the road.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Black lace. 

The dream I wake up from is so real that, for a moment, I think I'm holding black lace in my hand instead of my cotton sheet. Disappointed, and decidedly alone in my bed, my hand slams down on the alarm before roughly rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Still in the fog of sleep, I stumble into the shower. My dream invades my mind, Sara in only her black lace, lying across my desk, and I set the shower a lot cooler than I normally would. 

T minus two hours. 

~~~~~~~~~~

He'll be here in an hour and I still don't know what I'm wearing. It's just dinner, I keep telling myself. But then again, _It's dinner._ This a major step for us. Or maybe it's just minor. 

Oh hell, I'm not really sure. I just know I want to look good for him. My little tease in his office this afternoon spawned a dream so erotic that when I woke up I could still feel him... or thought I could feel him. 

And so I'm standing here, in nothing but black lace, staring at myself like an idiot. 

I have to get dressed. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I swear Emma's getting a kick out of this; she's sitting there on the couch, smirk on her face and soda in hand, as I run around like a teenaged boy on my first date. Twice now I've headed out of my room to get something, and twice I've forgotten what it was as soon as I see her there smiling at me and have gone back into my room. 

"Stop it!" I say to her huge smile, totally frazzled and needing to leave in the next ten minutes. She just laughs. "You're not helping..." I throw down my hands in surrender as she gets up and moves towards me. 

"I know." She picks up the very thing I've been looking for off of the breakfast bar and hands it to me, following me back into the bathroom. I pull up the collar and let the dark blue tie slip through while staring at her leaning on the door frame from the mirror. "You're so cute."

"I'm cute?" I finish the knot and turn back to her. She steps forward to flip my collar down and then straighten my tie. 

"Yeah. You're so nervous. It's adorable." She pats my chest over my heart a couple of times, then smiles again. I smile back and turn to the mirror checking my tie and hair again, and contemplate cologne. 

In the mirror her face turns serious. "She's really special, isn't she, Dad?" Our eyes lock in the mirror before she drops hers, another smile spreading across her face. "Forget it, of course she's special. You love her, she has to be."

~~~~~~~~~~

Where's my other shoe? Oh, come on, it has to be here. I have twenty minutes, I'm all ready, I cannot go crawling around on my hands and knees looking for it now. 

I look around my bed, look into the closet, and groan. Dropping to my hands and knees and lifting the dust ruffle on the bed I pray I don't rip these pantyhose because I'm pretty sure I don't own another pair. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Emma hands me my keys and wallet that I'd left on the counter as I shoulder my briefcase and a bag with clothes for work in it. 

"Now, make sure you leave with enough time to work, but don't talk about work." I stare, she smiles, "It's a first date, Dad. Save the body farm for the second date?" I laugh, she straightens my tie and jacket again. "I'll expect you home in the morning, but if you need me, call me. Don't let her make you do anything you don't want to do," she adds with a wink, echoing my own speeches to her before her first few dates. "Do you have cab fare on you if you want to leave?" 

We both laugh, and I kiss her cheek. 

"You be good, no wild parties!" I say pulling the door open. 

"Darn, I'll just have to roll that keg back out again..." 

I smirk at her, and she just winks and starts pushing me out the door. "Have fun!" She says as she pushes the door closed. 

And I'm officially out on my first date with Sara. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Found the shoe, but in the process tore the pantyhose beyond repair. Without them I feel so... naked... exposed... and I'm not sure if it's a good thing. I'm pacing the apartment now, waiting for him to arrive at any second. By the door my purse and bag sit, ready to bring me through the date and into an evening of crime. 

I'm so nervous, yet amazingly calm. It's like I'm standing at some great precipice, some amazing new start, or end, or...

The doorbell rings with perfect clarity, and I jump up to answer it. I'm officially on my first date with Grissom. 

(Tbc...) 


	26. An Evening of Beauty

Chapter 26: An Evening of Beauty

She is stunning, absolutely gorgeous. My eyes roam over her body, and it's hard to bring them back to her face. It's so rare that I see her in anything other than jeans that I want to burn this image into my mind. Her long legs are bare, dainty black heels at one end, black skirt at the other. The skirt ends a few inches short of her knees, revealing more than I ever hoped for tonight, and the fabric is light, still bouncing even though she's still. Her top is a fiery red, matching her lips, and consists of a band of red fabric across her chest, covered with layers of see-through mesh that falls to form an erotic yet feminine picture. There is just a hint of make up, besides her full red lips, is framed by her hair, bouncing in its natural curl around her shoulders. 

A blush starts to accompany the smile she met me with, yet her eyes don't drop shyly as I expect them to. She's examining me with the same voracity, if not more, that I have with her. She looks... hungry. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The first things I notice about him are his eyes; they're sparkling tonight, brought out by the blue hues in his suit. The monochrome color scheme of navy and cerulean do something to make him stand out. 

His eyes are roaming over my body now, almost like his caress that I've dreamt of so often. His breath catches, and I think I've done my work. The outfit has a feminine flair that soothes how revealing it actually is. I debated actually wearing it, but the look on his face now tells me I've made the right choice though I still feel slightly naked standing here. 

There's something in his eyes that I haven't seen very often. I've seen it flash in them before, but the emotion passed so quickly that I could never identify it. Lately, however, it's been there more often and tonight I's the first thing I see in his eyes and in his body. He's relaxed, yet I'm sure his body is as alert as mine is; charged by our closeness. And then he does something I never see; he smiles. 

He moves to the threshold of the door, wrapping an arm around my waist and whispering in my ear, "You look... absolutely breathtaking," before dropping a tiny kiss on my jaw line. 

I feel the blush rising. I've been told I look nice, pretty, cute, and even once a guy who wanted to get into my pants in college told me I was beautiful. I was unprepared for this, though, and I finally mumble out a thank you. Looking into his eyes I can see that it's the truth, no simple line or pleasantry. Grissom has always chosen his words carefully; if he thought I looked pretty he would have said pretty. But he said breathtaking, and he means every letter of it. 

His hand comes up to trace the features of my face, almost as if he's pushing the blush away. I take a deep breath and move to his ear. 

"And you," I say, planting a similar kiss on his bearded jaw, "are positively debonair." 

My words don't elicit a blush, but rather another smile. I think I could get used to seeing him smile more. He leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to my lips, and I can't resist him. As he pulls away I reclaim his lips, wrapping my arms around him softly. There's leisure to our kisses; they're soft, sweet, short, and simply beautiful. I've never had a man treat me so reverently before; the way that he touches me, hold me, looks at me now... it's all more than I ever expected.

Finally, he pulls away, and I feel incomplete though he's only moved less than a foot. 

"Well?" He asks. 

"What?" I ask, lost in his eyes, and moving to wrap myself in his arms again. 

He chuckles. "Well, as much as I enjoy necking like two teenagers at your front door, I believe I did come here to take you out on a date." 

For the second time that night I blush. His presence does something unexpected to me; I fall into this tunnel vision where he's all that I can see, all I care about. 

"Oh," I say stepping back, reaching into my apartment for my bags. Before I have a chance to shoulder the duffel with my work clothes in it, he takes it from my hand, placing it over his own shoulder wordlessly, leaving me with only my small purse and keys. We smile at each other as I lock the door, and he guides me to his car with a hand on the small of my back, and even opens the door for me. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It's a fight to keep my eyes on the road. Already one of my hands has drifted from the wheel to hold hers as I'm driving. I glance over at every chance I get, soaking in the beauty she exudes. It's a relief now that I've allowed myself to enjoy her presence, to try this. It so much easier than I ever thought it would be; separating work and our personal time.

We're almost at the restaurant, and already I want to turn around and head right back home to ravish her. This may be our first date, but we've been dancing around each other for so long that this seems odd to be the beginning; it should be the middle of our relationship. Either way, though, I'm glad to have her here, next to me. It's still humbling to know that she wants to be here, with me... but she's reassuring me every moment we're together through the look in her eyes, her touches, the way she kisses me... I feel like I've really been granted a new lease on life in so many ways, and I will not waste it.

I have to pull my hand from hers to parallel park the car, and I get out quickly and round the car to open the door for her. Her smile as I do this is priceless and is worth more than anything in this world. I've gotten the distinct impression that she's not used to being treated like a lady, which is very sad. I secretly make that my mission tonight. 

I place my hand on the small of her back, leading her into the small restaurant. It's family owned, one that I've heard of but never been to, and just off the beaten path enough that it is thankfully devoid of garish tourists. Sara quietly addresses the maitre de about reservations she's apparently made, and he says our table will be ready in a few moments. Stepping back in the alcove by the maitre de's podium, I take her into my arms as we wait. 

As she relaxes into my embrace, I'm struck by how natural this is to us, how easily we've fallen together now, and how empty it seems without the other. I squeeze her a bit, and she squeezes back, words unnecessary. 

~~~~~~~~~

The waiter finally leaves with our orders, and we're left blissfully alone. I reach a hand across the table and he folds his fingers into mine. Maybe it's how new all of this is, maybe it's just been that long since either of us was really involved this deeply with someone, but it seems that, at least tonight, it's almost physically painful to be separated. It makes me wonder what's going to happen when we get to work tonight and we have to return to acting like we're only the best of friends, and not as deeply involved as we are. 

"I don't know how I'm going to do this," He utters quietly, and my heart skips a beat. 

"What?" I ask, only reassured by the unfaltering look of love in his eyes. 

"How I'm going to work tonight...every night... with you only a few feet away and not be able to touch you like I want to, to look at you like I want to, to say the things I want to, and to have to be your boss." He says quietly. 

"Me either," I say, covering our hands with my other one. "How can I possibly walk around the lab pretending that I don't want to be in your arms, pretending I don't want you to touch me, pretending that we're not so much more than they think?" He nods, and I can almost see his brain working. It's funny; while some people I would imagine gears cranking for, others I would see computer chips buzzing in their heads, but not Grissom. I see Grissom as a true Renaissance man, and as such, I imagine some complex construct of parchment, windmills, and wood of Michelangelo's design turning smoothly in his mind; moving and routing information simply, and slowly but deftly constructing it until it lights up in his eyes and flows from his mouth as poetry. 

"It won't be easy," he says, moving his second hand to capture both of my hands in his larger, warmer ones, "and we should probably try to keep this as quiet as we can for as long as possible. But it'll be worth it, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make this work."

It's simple poetry, as I expected, and so heavy with emotion and promise that I very nearly tear up. It's only fair that I reply with as much honesty. 

"I know that this puts you in a much more precarious position than it does me, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes, also. You're not in this alone, so please," I'm almost quietly begging as I grasp his hands, "please don't start acting like you are."

"I can only try, Sara." He says with a sigh. He knows what I'm afraid of, and I'm starting to think he's afraid of it, too. 

"Things are so much easier when we're working together," I add, letting a hand rub up and down his forearm. 

"They are, aren't they?" He says with a smile. 

I return his smile as the waiter returns with our meals. We dutifully untangle to let the waiter place the plates down. 

~~~~~~~~~~

She is going to get it. I can't believe she's doing this! For the last fifteen minute she's been playing footsies with me under the table while carrying on a perfectly normal conversation. The box scores stopped working about ten minutes ago, so I've resorted to thinking about decomps, and I'm still not sure I'll be able to stand up any time soon. She knows what she's doing, too. She's smiling at me like the cat that swallowed the canary. And while at first it was fun, now it's just torture. This is just not fair. 

The waiter comes to take our plates away, and before I can even open my mouth, Sara's already asked him for the check, blissfully removing her foot. As he moves away she reaches down to adjust the heel strap as she slips her shoe back on. 

"No dessert?" I ask, still imagining decomps. 

"Well, um, I was thinking that maybe we could go back to my place for dessert?" She asks cautiously, but with desire burning in her eyes this time. I raise my eyebrows at her, moving on to dismembered corpses. "If you want, that is..." She stumbles over her words as the waiter returns with the check. I simply hand him my credit card before he even puts the check on the table, and he's off again. 

Dessert... at Sara's... It crosses my mind that she might actually be talking about food. A real dessert... but looking into her eyes I know I'm wrong: I'm dessert. I'm unaccustomed to this kind of scrutiny, to this feeling. But somehow, it's all right, because it's Sara and I feel the exact same way about her. 

"There would be nothing I'd like more," I say. Sara smiles a huge smile, and I sign the receipt without thought. We both practically jump out of our seats, and I move to escort her out of the restaurant. Safely in the car, I reach across the seat and pull her to me, our lips crashing in a heated kiss full of passion and urgency. After a moment we pull away, breathless, and I start the car, speeding out into traffic. 

After a moment I can feel her moving around beside me, and I hear the click of her seat belt being unfastened. I'd look, but the traffic is usually heavy for this time of night, and I'm not thinking clearly as it is. I settle for speaking her name, but not a second after I do I feel her hands on my shoulders, then her lips on my neck. It's all I can do to keep my eyes open and on the traffic. I reach my arm out to grab hold of her instinctively. Because of the way she's moved, my hand goes out under her, and when I finally find her my hand's landed on the outside of her right thigh. I can't even picture how she's contorted herself to do this, and her lips continue to assault my neck as her hands touch anything they can reach. I let my hand rub up and down her thigh a couple of times, amazed by how soft her skin is, but this isn't good. We can't do this. 

She suddenly moves her assault up to my ear lobe, moaning before she whispers to me. "I want you so bad..." she hisses out. I groan out loud, knowing that there's nothing more that I want than her at this very moment, but we're still at least five minutes away from her apartment, and I'll never be able to get there like this. I can barely keep my eyes open and on the road, never mind even remembering how to get there. 

"Stop," I mumble, gently pushing on her thigh, "you're going to get us both killed!" 

"At least we'll die happy, then," she says in an uncharacteristic display of logic-blind lust, sucking my earlobe into her mouth. 

"No," I say again, pushing her back. This time she complies with a groan of disapproval. She turns back around in her seat, and I let my hand settle on her left knee, just below where her skirt stops. " We'll die frustrated and unsatisfied. We've waited a long time, Sara, five minutes will not kill us."

~~~~~~~~~~

Whoever said revenge is a bitch was right.... Oh my God I think I may die. His hand stayed on my thigh as I buckled back up to prevent me from moving over to him again. I don't know what's come over me, but it's a side of me I've never felt, and it's exhilarating. 

This is pure torture. At fist his hand just moved when the car moved, then he started making tiny circles with his fingers, and now it's slowly creeping under my skirt. It's all I can do to not buck my hips, this truly is pure torture. Dear God, can't we drive any faster?

~~~~~~~~~~

Turn about is fair play, my dear, I think as I quickly park in front of her complex. She's squirming in her seat, now; though I don't think she realizes it, and I haven't even done anything more than put my hand on her thigh. I don't even think she's noticed we've stopped moving. I rip the key from the ignition and jump out of the car. I see her eyes fly open as I round the car, opening the door for her. She tugs her seatbelt and takes my proffered hand to help her out of the car. As soon as her two feet are on pavement I pull her to me forcefully and press her between me and the car, taking control of her mouth. I feel more than hear the mutual groan we emit. 

Our tongues twist together in an erotic dance as my hands find their way under her top to the soft flesh of her lower back. They rub circles, pulling her closer to me. I've never felt so alive, so uninhibited before; I want to have her, right here, right now- rules and work and public indecency be damned. I love this woman and I want everyone to know it. I pull away for a second, and lean my forehead against hers, nuzzling her face with mine, my lips dropping tiny kisses anywhere they find. 

"I love you, Sara." I breathe out simply. 

I feel her stop breathing. 


	27. Unquantifiable

Author's note: This is the PG-13/R version of an NC-17 chapter. Please notice that I've raised the rating of Innocence and Beauty to reflect this. The following G/S interaction has been carefully crafted such that the essential information, as well as a good amount of G/S fluff, were in both versions of the chapter. If you do not want to read either, please feel free to e-mail me and I can give you a synopsis of the chapter. If you are 17 OR OVER ONLY, PLEASE you can find the Adult version of the chapter here: 

Chapter 27: Unquantifiable

I never knew what those simple words could mean until he uttered them, and I am blown away. 

Breathe Sara. In...out... good. 

"Say it again," I whisper, lost in his eyes. 

"I love you, Sara." He says quietly. 

"And I love you too, Gil," slips from my lips, quietly. I press my lips to his softly, though I still feel an urgent pull to be with him. The kiss is soft, quick, and sweet, despite our rapid pulses and heavy breathing. "Let's go inside."

He nods, then steps back and instead of fixing his own wrinkled clothing, smooths down mine with a reverence I've never experienced before. I reach out my hand to do the same for him, but he captures my hand in his own, planting a kiss on the back of my hand. I feel the smile creep up from the corners of my mouth all the way up to my eyes. He pulls my hand, leading me toward my building, smiling back. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I mold myself to her back and run my fingers over the back of her collar bone while I wrap my other arm around her stomach as she adorably fumbles with the lock. I replace my hand on her neck with my lips, taking the key from her hands and gently sliding it into the lock and deftly twisting it until I hear the tumbler click over. I gently prod her to move forward as I pull the keys out and push the door open, and swiftly throwing it shut and leaning back against it once we're inside. The keys fall from my hand and land on the floor with a clatter, forgotten. 

I love the taste of her, it's salty and fresh and beautiful. I wrap my other arm around her, slightly higher so that it grazes her skin as it moves across her body, and she moans, pressing her chest out and grinding her hips into mine. My own groan reverberates in my throat as I pull her soft earlobe into my mouth and wrap my arms further around her. 

She's writhing now, and she's making sounds low in her throat that I can feel in my chest. I am doing this to her, I realize. I am making her feel like this. Her right hand moves up to tangle in my hair, her short nails playing deliciously over my scalp as she whispers my name. "Yes?" I whisper as I kiss up the side of her neck. 

She pulls her arm away and almost forcefully pulls out of my grip, turning and moving back to meld her body to mine. We're both breathing heavy through open mouths, and I can feel her breath mingling with mine as I breathe it in. Slowly she licks her lips, her tongue slowly wetting them, as she brings her face closer to mine until we're resting against each other. She captures my lips in a series of tiny, loose lipped kisses as she brings her hands up to tangle in my hair again. 

My hands roam downward over her sides and up her back, sliding under the soft material of her shirt to feel the soft skin of her back. She shudders, and suddenly the gentleness of the last few minutes is gone. I roughly pull her closer, and push my tongue into her mouth. Sara grabs on just as tightly and returns the kiss with passion. Her hands pull my shirt out from my pants and I feel them gliding up my skin like silk as she begins her own assault on my neck. 

"You make me feel young again," I proclaim as I move a hand to the top of her skirt. 

"Age is just a number, Gil," She whispers as she plants kisses under my ear and starts unbuttoning my shirt. "One that I've never been concerned with." Her fingers continue to work the buttons as she brings her face up to mine, sucking my bottom lip in between her lips, then whispers to me, "You make me feel alive. You make me feel whole. You make me feel beautiful." 

I push us away from the door as I kiss her slowly and deeply, "Let me make love to you," I say against her mouth. It comes out as more of a plea than a question as we dance further into her apartment. 

"Yes, oh God, Gil, yes," She answers, pulling the shirt from my body and wrapping her arms around my naked torso. Her breathy answer has fueled my passion even more, and our lips crash together roughly again, kissing with the unbridled passion we had shared only minutes before outside. I want to envelop her into my body, pull her as close to me as possible, and never let go. 

We both jump when it happens, backing away from each other a few inches in surprise and I watch Sara's face contort in confusion. I feel it again; a vibration at my hip. Her gaze follows mine and grimaces form as we see the name flashing back at us on the display, "Catherine."

She shrugs, but I just move back to her, kissing her again. She pulls back in surprise. 

"Gil, answer it." She says plainly. I shake my head "no" and pull her to me, keeping her slightly to the side so I'm the only one bothered by the phone on my belt. "It's work, I'm sure it's important."

"No," I say as I kiss any flesh I can find, my hands taking up their former exploration as I try to ignore the phone on my hip. 

"Damn it," She says pulling away, a smile on her face though her tone is harsh. She pulls the phone of my belt and flips it open, handing it to me. My face falls, but she takes a deep breath and motions for me to talk. 

"Grissom," I bark into the phone, trying to hide the fact that I'm breathing heavy. 

"Well, hello to you too," I hear Catherine say sarcastically, though my eyes never leave Sara. She moves to sit on the arm of the couch, her hands running over her body as she tries to compose herself as well. 

"What do you want? I'm kinda busy," I say, moving to close the few feet between me and Sara. I miss her in my arms, already.

"DB in a shallow grave, Brass called me in because swing shift's swamped. I've got some creepy crawlies for ya," She says, sounding mildly disgusted as she always does when talking about insects. Her act is grinding on my nerves, though. I kneel on the couch behind Sara, watching as her eyes become wide as my free hand starts to trace her shoulder. 

"Can't you take care of it?" I ask as I push Sara's head forward, placing a silent kiss at the base of her neck before moving my hand under the flimsy fabric of her shirt and lifting it off of her body to reveal a strapless red lace bra. I gulp audibly. 

"But, Gil, there are bugs here," She sounds confused. 

"I said I was busy, Catherine." I prop the phone between the ear and my shoulder, freeing my hands to play on Sara's back. She takes a deep breath when I let the entire palms of my hands rest on her back, her whole body shuddering as she lets it out. I kneed her back with my hands slowly, and glance around to see that her eyes are closed, her bottom lip held tightly in between her teeth. 

"What are we supposed to do with the bugs?" She asks, lost. 

"What every other lab in the country that doesn't have a forensic entomologist on staff does. Goodbye, Catherine." I hang up on her stammering objection and toss the phone away. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I turn to him, my eyes wide. He just gave up bugs for me. Bugs and the lab, to be precise. I never would have fathomed that he could ever do that; they always came first to him. I feel my breath coming faster and in stunted shudders, my eyes blazing into his. His hands have fallen to mine, and I see worry in his eyes. 

"You didn't go," I say, the three words seeming so inadequate. 

"No, I didn't." He says, pulling my whole body around so I'm sitting on the arm of the couch as he kneels on the cushion in front of me. 

"Why?" For some reason I have to know, though I'm almost afraid of the answer. 

"Because I'm with you," he says simply. "This is my time with you, now." He reaches a hand to caress my face. "They don't need me at that scene. And I need to be here with you."

"You gave up a scene for me," I say, turning my head to kiss his palm. I want him here with me. I want him to never leave again. I feel the hunger flow over me and I push off of the arm of the couch, landing on Grissom and pushing him onto his back. "God, that's sexy. Make love to me," I beg. "Make me forget my own name."

He groans as I mold my body to his. He claims my mouth hungrily and we duel, fighting for dominance in this passionate dance. His hands pull me to him, and I wish we could melt into each other. His hand rubs up and down my bare thigh, creeping up under my skirt higher each time.

I bury my head in his neck, relishing in being held and caressed. It feels so safe, so amazing, so euphoric to finally have all my fantasies come true. Every nerve in my body is alive at his touch, his kiss and his caress. He rolls so that I'm trapped between him and the back of the couch.

I let out a cry as he assaults my neck. I'm surrounded by him; every sense is overloaded with this man and I swear I could stay happy like this forever. His lips come back up to mine and he speaks between fevered kisses as a hand caresses me. 

"Bedroom, Sara," he blurts out, driving me wild with his passion. 

"Huh?" I say, lost in sensation, my cognitive abilities lost to his touch. 

"I can't make love to you on a couch, Sara." He says before he lets his tongue graze along the crest of my ear. "Bedroom?" He asks again, tugging and sucking on my earlobe. 

"Ugh, yeah," I say, pointing in the general direction of my bedroom. I hit his back a couple of times and point again to get his attention. He stops and laughs a little, turning his head to see where I'm pointing as I catch shallow breaths. 

He pulls back and helps me up from the couch, stopping to kiss me deeply, then pulls back and caresses my face before leading me back to my bedroom. The sunset is shining through the window, so he leaves the lights off, and instead brings me around to the edge of the bed where the golden light is filtering in and stands me there.

He's in half shadow, his mysteriousness come to life. I reach out and let my hands slide down his chest. There's more muscle than I had expected in his torso, and it arouses me more than I thought it would. My hands drift lower to his belt, and I start to undo it, my eyes never straying form his own hungry gaze. I pull the leather out from the belt loops and toss it to the side. 

I watch as he moves around me, sitting on the edge of the bed behind me. I crane my neck and watch as he places soft kisses on my lower back, turning back and closing my eyes to enjoy the sensation. His hands are strangely absent, and I know why when I hear his shoes hit the floor. I smile a little, but am jolted back to the feel of his hands on my hips.

He turns me around gently, placing a kiss just below my belly button. Then, he takes a hand, placing a kiss on my inner wrist before putting it on his shoulder. I watch as he reaches out and circles one thigh with both arms, trailing his fingers down the back of it and lifting my leg to his lap. He places a kiss on my knee before taking my sandal off and tossing it aside. He gently places this leg down and repeats the same action on the other. 

When he places my other foot on the floor, devoid of its sandal, I pull him up to stand as well. I trail tiny kisses down his now slick torso, and move my hands to undo his pants, moving down with them as I slide them off, coming back up slowly. 

I claim his mouth as I push him back onto the bed then pull away and roll over, scooting up to the pillows and watching as he crawls toward me like a lion on the prowl. His hands roam up my back as he buries his head in my chest. There is nothing in this world now but the two of us flying higher and higher into ecstacy.

I can't endure this sweet torture any longer. He kisses me again as his hands slide down and grasp the side of my lace panties. Suddenly he pulls back. 

"Sara?" He asks, his hands sliding up my body. My eyes are closed and all I know is that he's not touching me anymore. They fly open to see him hovering above me. My eyes question, because my voice won't work. "Do we need...?" The question trails off, and I know what he's asking. 

"Taken care of," I blurt out, praying he accepts the answer without question and comes back to my body. That Michelangelo mind of his is not short circuited by the passion as mine is, he is concerned, and I see it. 

"Yes?" He asks, hopeful. 

"Yes," I nod. Within milliseconds his lips are on mine, his body weight crushing me blissfully into the mattress as he slides the lace panties off of me. My breaths come in pants when he settles between my thighs and I can't breathe as he fills me. It's never felt this perfect before, this whole, this amazing. I look up into his eyes and we stare for a second, unmoving. 

"Perfect," He whispers as he kisses me, still not moving, but relishing in this feeling, "Whole... beautiful," He kisses me as I wrap my legs around him. I see the emotions flutter through his irises as he raises a hand to caress my face and says a final word to me, "home."

I pull him down to me, needing to feel his lips on mine. We move together with the fluidity that we've established over the years at crime scenes and again in our personal relationship. Our skin yearns for the contact of the other, and we move together as the pace quickens, the uncontrollable passion taking over. I'm aware of everything, yet not as I am so lost in him. I am saying his name over and over as if in prayer. I feel the sweat gather on his back under my hands and I feel the rough yet loving caresses of his hands. 

"Love you," He whispers as he kisses my face. "God, I love you," he says again, laying his lips on mine gently even as we keep up a frantic rhythm. Together we move past the confines of being separate people and merge into one whole being, exploding in our perfection.

We lay entwined, panting, and reluctant to move. His weight on me feels wonderful, and I just wrap myself up in his arms. His hands caress as we come down from our high, his lips planting occasional kisses wherever they land. 

"I love you, Gil Grissom," I say, my hands framing his face as I press a chaste kiss to his lips. I stammer as I try to get the next words out, inexplicably shy after our encounter, "I've never... that was..."

"Unquantifiable," he finishes for me with a smile. His hand comes up and caresses my face before pulling me in closer to him, cradling me in the crook of his neck. "I love you, Sara," he whispers. 


	28. Distractions

AN- Anyone having problems finding the adult version of ch 27 can either e-mail me or visit my website (see my author profile for the addy) and follow the link from the front page. For some reason I can't get the html link to upload in the chapter. Agin though, please read that only if you're of age. Here's the next chapter, enjoy! 

Chapter 28: Distractions 

"So Gris, what's up with your ride?" Warrick asks as we pile into the department Denali to head to a double murder on the edge of town. He starts up the engine and I settle in the passenger seat. 

"Huh?" I ask, distracted. I can only feel Sara's presence in the back seat, but she's already on my mind. We've had 13 official dates, 7 impromptu trysts, and countless moments where we were the only two people in the world up until now, and so far we've been successful in keeping our personal business personal. Spending this last week, however, pulling doubles and triples over a high profile kidnaping left no time to see each other when work wasn't present. I feel deprived of her, and I plan to remedy that soon. 

"Where's your car?" He asks as we pull out into traffic. 

"Oh," I say, pulling my mind on task, this crime scene will be torture if I can't. "Emma has it. She took it in to get serviced this morning, so I have her car." I shrug. 

"As long as you're not having a mid-life crisis, though that is a nice car..." Warrick's quiet for a minute, studying the road and flicking his eyes back and forth between me and Sara in the rearview mirror. "Uh, Griss, I don't know if I should be saying this but..."

I give him a second to continue, and when he doesn't I'm sure we're caught, but I prompt him anyway. "What is it, Warrick?"

"Well," he sighs, "I think you really need to talk to Cath." It's painfully obvious he's not comfortable, and needs another prompting. 

"About what?"

"You see, she's been... I know Sara's noticed it too... She's just been..." He won't look me in the eyes, and I turn to Sara for clarification. 

She looks at him and gives me a quick look saying she thought we'd been caught, too, then quickly sighs. "I think he's trying to say that Cath's been a complete bitch since she found out about Emma." 

I thought I was confused before, but I was wrong because _now _I'm confused. "What?" I practically bark.

"I don't understand it, man. She's usually so cool about stuff like that, you know; family things? I even talked to her about it. I don't know if she's pissed because you didn't tell her, or because she's not the only one with a kid now... I really don't get it." He rubs his forehead as we pull up to the crime scene. "We were kinda hoping you could talk to her... maybe find out what's going on?"

"We?" I ask as we get out and head to the tailgate to grab our kits. Warrick just shakes his head as he's sidetracked by Brass. I raise my eyebrows at Sara as I pull out our kits and hand hers to her.

"She's been making everyone's lives Hell for the last, oh, what's it been... three months?" She smirks at me as I pull the tailgate down. I feel my forehead crinkle as I try to recall my interactions with her as of late. "How'd you miss that?" 

I stare at her for a second, then lean down to whisper to her with a smile on my face. "Maybe it's because there's only one woman I can see as of late." 

A half smile plays on her face before she pushes me away from the cover of the SUV and out into the desert night. "After work, Gris... after work."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Where have you been?" Cath practically bites my head off as soon as I walk into the lab. 

"At a scene," I say, holding my hands out in surrender. 

Her annoyance continues, "I called you at least three times. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

I pull it off my belt to find that it's no longer on, and punching the power button a few times proves that the battery's died. "Dead," I say holding it out for her to see. "Why, what's up?"

She makes a noise of disgust into the file folder she's holding, then shakes her head at me. "Handled now." She says. If this is even a glimpse of the attitude she's been giving everyone it has got to stop. This is ridiculous. "Oh, and you have a visitor in with Greg."

"With Greg?" She nods and with a fake smile she walks out of the room. Oh boy. With a deep breath I head down to the DNA lab. Over the last few months I've taken Greg out in the field with me more and more, not because I don't trust his training to anyone else, but more because I'm hoping that in some way I can make him into the well rounded CSI I never was. After all, I see much of my young self in the endearing lab rat. I can hear the rock blaring from down the hall, and I prepare my gruff exterior and lecture for my newest protege when I'm stopped by familiar laughter coming from there as well. 

When Cath said I had a visitor in the DNA lab this wasn't what I was expecting. As I get closer I can see them through the glass. Emma's curled up in the corner of the lab, a notebook and CD player under her charge, and at a safe distance from the three trays of specimens Greg's shifting around his table. They're both singing around large smiles to what sounds like an eighties hair band. I post myself in the doorway, interested to both watch their easy camaraderie and wait to see how long it takes them to notice me. 

Emma's been to the lab a few times since she's become a permanent fixture in my life, most often joining in on our more frequent breakfasts after shift. She'd taken immediately to Nick and Greg besides, thankfully, forgeing an almost sisterly camaraderie with Sara. The guys were much closer to her in age, and interests, than the rest of the team, and the light flirting they'd often engaged in seemed to do a lot for all of the egos involved. I almost objected, but sitting there watching them one night, it occurred to me that it might not be such a bad thing for Emma to have some mature, responsible male friends around here. After all, she was still technically new here and the last think I would want would be for her to be just as reclusive as I had been. 

"Grissom!" Greg's voice cracked in surprise and knocked me from my thoughts. He was like a deer caught in headlights, his hands still poised over his instruments, a guilty look on his face. 

"Hey Dad!" Emma said, sitting up and smiling at me. She instinctively reached over and turned the music down. 

"What are you doing here?" I ask of Emma as I let my eyes roam over Greg's backlogged desk. 

"Greg was the only one I wasn't bothering. And your office is... creepy." She says, gathering her things and moving over to drop a kiss on my cheek. "So I played DJ for Greg while he worked," she proudly declared.

"Playing DJ?" I ask. I'm quite willing to let this one go, but I fight to keep a straight face to uphold my reputation. 

"Days has me backed up. I still have two trays of tests to run for them before I can even touch our stuff, and it can't be jumped... Ecklie already paid me a special visit." I can hear the stress in his voice even though he's trying to keep the mood light. "Emma was just keeping me from freaking out by supplying some good music... like sunshine on a cloudy day." Greg and Emma smile at each other, and for half a second I almost feel like I'm intruding, but the emotion's gone before I can even say for sure it was there, and it sparks something paternal and possessive in me. 

"Ok, well, you do what you can, Greg." I say as Nick moves into the room, a bag of samples in his hands to give to Greg. 

"Hey, Girl, Boss" He says in a hello to Emma and me before moving over to clamp a hand on Greg's shoulder. "Greggo, backed up?" 

"You won't be getting your results for a month, man," we hear him sigh as I lead Emma out towards my office. 

"So, why are you here?" I ask, leading her around a corner, "Not that I'm not happy to see you..."

"You have my keys," She says simply. 

"I need those to drive your car," I smile as we head into my office.

"Yes, but you didn't give me yours."

"Yes I did."

"No, you gave me the Denali key, you didn't give me your key ring."

"While I'm enjoying this little exchange, can you please get to the point?" I think she's been spending too much time with Greg. 

"I have one house key. It's on my key ring. You have my key ring. I couldn't get into the house." She smirks as she sits down in my chair and pulls the Denali key out of her purse, dangling it in front of me. 

"Sorry sweetheart," I say, slightly embarrassed, then I turn, confusion on my face. "My office is creepy?" She just smiles embarrassedly and shrugs her shoulders. 

~~~~~~~~~~

"A whole month?" Nick asked, smirking. 

"Dude," I say, laying my hands out over the trays in front of me. "Ecklie laid this crap on me as soon as I walked in the door and practically ripped me a new asshole as he laid down the law about it being first priority." With Emma's smile no longer keeping me grounded I feel the stress settling in on me again. 

"Chill Greggo." Nick laughs, pulling up a stool. "Just asking." He lays his evidence to the side and watches for a moment as I continue to fill the trays to process. "So, Greggo..."

"What Nick... I'm kinda busy..." I can't deal with this now. I want to clear all of this so maybe I can get to Grissom's evidence tonight. 

"Wow, your mood really went down the toilet when she left." I pause, and then go back to my work, pretending I'm not affected. I don't even have to ask who he's talking about. 

"Well, uh," I say, titrating another sample, "she was DJ-ing for me, keeping me distracted." I look at Nick, and I can only match his smile. He knows my secret. 

"I'm sure she was distracting you, buddy, just not like that..." He laughs and pats me on the shoulder. The GMS beeps and I head over to run the next set of samples. 

"Hey, c'mon man, you know that it'll never happen." I say, loading the new samples and giving him a disapproving look. Last week we'd gone out for a beer and the conversation then took the same turn it's taking now. I find her infatuating, gorgeous, and the air is charged when I'm around her, but it would never work. I slip the GMS shut, send the run command through the computer, and start ticking off reasons to Nick on my fingers, "She's almost eight years younger than I am, not even 21 yet... She's absolutely gorgeous, intellectual, and amazing and, oh yeah, biggest problem of them all.... she's Grissom's daughter."

Nick points a finger for me to sit back down, ending my rant and signaling one of his "brotherly" talks. "First off, her being Griss' daughter won't be a problem unless any of you make it a problem. You've already shown that you're more than ready to advance at CSI, so that shouldn't be an issue. Next, Sara is, what, fifteen years younger than Gris? So unless he's going to be a total hypocrite he won't say anything about that. And all those qualities you named about her? Since when has that stopped you?"

I nod, a small smile passing over my face, and Nick smiles back at me, giving me a "go get 'em tiger" pat on the back. I shake my head sadly, though. "You may have taken Grissom out of the equation for me, Nick, but you didn't factor in the most important part."

"What's that?" He asks, puzzled. 

"Emma." I stand, moving around the lab and preparing another tray of samples to be run. He shakes his head at me as he leaves, an amused smile on his face. I'm not amused. 

Why do all the women I fall head over heels for have to be inextricably tied to Grissom?

(TBC...)


	29. Making Fun of Dancers is Tutu Mean

Chapter 29: Making Fun of Dancers is Tutu Mean...

"So where's Cath?" Nick asked as he slid into the booth, smiling at the small group gathered there. 

"She's picking up Lindsey," I say, a little annoyed, and letting it show through my fake smile. Warrick smirks at me then looks to Grissom. 

"So did you talk to her?" He asked and I see Nick slump, knowing where this conversation is going. 

"I did," He says, sliding his hand into mine under the table. "She just turned around and walked away mumbling under her breath," An air of defeat surrounded Grissom that I have yet to understand. He hasn't spoken to me about it and I know better than to push him. I feel suddenly protective of him, remembering how he curled his body into mine yesterday, how he laid his head on my chest seeking solace, and how I held him close, reassuring him with every cell of my skin that touched his that things were okay. 

It looked like Warrick was going to say something when Emma and Greg returned, plates of food in hand. The entire mood of the table lightened as they joined us, their youthful energy and practically blinding smiles infectious. Even Grissom's mood lightened at Emma's return. Although she's been with him for months now, her presence is still a novelty to him. 

"So, Girl," Nick asks of Emma sitting next to him. 'Girl' has become his nickname for her. He's taken her in as a little sister even more so than he did with me, though his flirtatious Texan charm still slips out every once in a while. "What are you up to today?"

She swallows the bacon she's eating and smiles at him, "Final registration for classes. I have to run over, get my books, check in with the registrar. You know, silly things like that."

Greg, who's pulled up a chair between Emma and me at the end of the table, has simply stared at her this entire morning. I wonder if he knows how incredibly transparent he is about his infatuation? I actually kind of think it's cute, personally. I wonder if Grissom's noticed, because if he has he hasn't said anything. My mind ponders that match for a moment.

"Books?" Nick said. "I thought you were a dance major." We all stopped and looked at him. Did he say what I think he just said? Please tell me that didn't come out of his mouth. Grissom moves forward to defend Emma, but she cuts him off. 

"Yeah," she starts off, and amazingly straight faced, "we do take some classes with books. I'm really worried though." We watch her in amazement as she reels Nicky in for the kill, "We have this one book, it's almost thirty pages long, someone said we're learning the alphabet." Her face is like a rock as she continues talking, and I'm about to burst out laughing. "That's almost thirty letters! I mean, I can only count to eight," said as she holds up six fingers, looks, recounts, then adjusts to seven digits, "See? Eight! Thirty is a lot more than eight!" Nick's smiling now, taking the verbal abuse knowing that he deserves it. "I mean, like, we have to do a letter a day, and someone said next year if you put the letters together, you can make words!" 

She sends him a saccharin smile, and then lightens up and winks. He laughs out loud, and Greg still simply stares, a slow smile starting. 

"You know man," Warrick says as he elbows Nick, "it's not cool to make fun of dancers."

"I wasn't makin' fun, man." Nick says, smiling back at Emma, "I just really don't know why you'd have books for a dance class."

"Well, I do have to take a liberal arts core, and then there are classes like Dance History, Kines..."

"Kines?" I break in.

"Kinesiology," she smiles. "What?' she asks of the amazed faces around her, "You didn't think I just prance around all day in a tutu, did you?"

"Actually, I used to." Warrick says, casually spearing a potato slice and dipping it into ketchup. "I made fun of my cousin for taking ballet class when I was 15. My Grandmother got wind of it and made me take classes with her for a whole year. I give you guys lots of respect, that's hard work."

Emma and Warrick shared a moment, sizing each other up and nodding as she mumbled a thank you. "Nice to know _someone_ around here respects what I do!" She said, tossing a playful jab into Nick's arm. He feigned pain and received a laugh for his performance. 

"But Nick, you really shouldn't judge a student simply by their chosen major," Grissom breaks in. To everyone else this probably sounds like his lecture tone, but I can tell by the wistfulness hidden in the back of it that this is his 'I'm proud of my daughter' tone. 

Emma hears it too and stares a hole through the top of his head, "Dad?"

"What?" He asks, sipping his coffee. 

"No." She answers, her eyes pleading. The guys watch the exchange of tipping heads and body language that I've come to know as their form of conversation in amazement.

"I'm just proud of you," Gris says plainly. 

"Good! But the whole world doesn't have to know!" Redness creeps into her cheeks and I have to laugh. They had this 'conversation' while I was at dinner once. She's quite humble about her accomplishments, and doesn't seem to understand that of anyone, this crowd would be the one to appreciate her outstanding scholastic achievement. 

She'd actually presented an interesting argument at dinner, though. With her generation so shallow and obsessed with image, pop, and popularity, as soon as people found out you were smart they apparently treated you like a leper. Looking around the table I'm sure each one of us felt like that in school, but she had the added burden of the performing arts, which also separated her from "normal" society. She and Grissom had ended the discussion on a positive note, deciding that it really wasn't good to be normal, but I think he missed the spark of sadness and yearning in her eyes. 

"Know what?" Greg asked, following the conversation closely. 

"Just that Emma's an incredibly good student. Very smart." He stopped there, shrugging and smiling at Emma. She blushed lightly as she pushed away from the table. 

"Ok, I have to go." She got up and moved around the booth to kiss Gris goodbye, and then added a goodbye to each of us just as Brass walked in. He got a quick hug from her as she moved away from the table. 

She turned and pulled down her sunglasses, then popped her keys out of her pocket, "Don't forget about dinner!" 

"I won't. Drive safe sweetheart!" Gris called after her. She waved and turned to exit the diner. 

"Eh, she'll be fine. She's a Jersey Driver," Jim said as he took her place at the table. "They're the best drivers in the world," he added with a wink, proud of his New Jersey heritage. 

For the first time all morning, Greg was actually eating his breakfast when Warrick added in, "You know, the only thing worse than a Jersey Driver is a New York driver."

"Hey, low blow man. Those are the cabbies..." Greg laughed, quickly gulping down his mouthful of eggs. 

"You know, they say New Jersey is the armpit of the US, Jim," Nicky joked. 

Jim raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and said, "Well, then, I wouldn't want to think what that would make Texas."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Shit!" 

"Huh?" Sara moved out of her foggy sleep below me as I moved out of her bed, searching for my clothes. 

"I'm late." I said, locating my pants, but not my boxers. Sara tapped me on the shoulder and held them out to me. I took them from her and quickly dressed, very aware that she was still naked and sprawled across her bed. 

"I thought dinner wasn't until six," She yawned out as I pulled on my shirt. 

"It wasn't," I say, cursing when I realize I'm short a button. An image floats through my mind of Sara pulling me to her so forcefully that it popped right off the fabric, and I smile for a second.

"Then why are you rushing?" she says, leaning over the edge of the bed to fish a sock out of the sheets for me. 

"Because it's seven thirty..." I say as I pull the blanket up and look under the bed for my shoe. 

"Seven thirty?" I hear right next to my ear. I turn and we bang heads. After a second I lean in and place a small kiss on the red lump. She pulls my head to her lips to do the same. But as soon as her lips leave my skin I'm on my feet again, rushing to finish dressing. Not once have we ever slept past five in the afternoon together, and usually one of us was up considerably earlier than that, so we'd stopped setting the alarm. 

"She won't be mad, will she?" Sara asks, a frown creasing her features. 

"No, probably just worried." I sigh as I lean down and smooth the worry from her face. Sara understands how important it is to me to have time alone with Emma, and even tries to help me find some time for it when she can. "I'll see you at work tonight." I had intended on the kiss being a parting peck, but I let it deepen, and broke away only when I couldn't breathe anymore. "Love you," I say as I get up to leave. 

"Love you," she says, watching me leave from the bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Hey, Ash, I'll call you back," I hear her say as I sheepishly slip in the door. "Yeah, he's home. Bye hunny." 

I see her replacing the phone, and she turns to stare at me over the breakfast bar, disappointment and apprehension scrawled across her face. She waits. I put down my coat and briefcase. It's plainly written across her face that this is about more than dinner. 

"I'm sorry." I say moving into the kitchen with her. 

"Don't be. I was just worried," she says quietly, leaning back on the counter. One second ticks by, then two, and still we don't say anything. "Dinner's still in the oven, it should still be good," she says, playing with her nails. 

I nod and move away to retrieve it from the oven. Inside are two plates of Veal Parmesan with a side of spaghetti, meticulously prepared. If I wasn't feeling guilty by now this sure did it. 

"Do you want me to move out?"

I almost drop the plates when I hear her question, her voice tinged with sadness. "What?" I ask, my back still to her as I deliberately set the plates on the counter. 

"I feel like I'm exiling you from your own home. Do you want me to move out?"

Her voice is flat and defeated, and I don't know what to make of this. I turn to see red eyes staring at me, and her expression is unreadable, forced to be stoic and covering up something that I'm not sure of. "Do you want to move out?" I ask, my voice sounding more solid than I feel. 

"No," she whispers out. She no longer looks at me, and she sounds so small and defeated. "But if you want me to go I will." 

I move to her, pulling her into a hug that she doesn't return, she just leans into my embrace, reminding me of when she was a child and I cradled her tiny, sleeping form to mine. "What would ever make you think I'd want you to leave?" She doesn't answer, but after a few minutes pulls away more composed. 

"You're never here anymore." Her statement is soft, but condemning. "The only time I've gotten to see you is if I stop at the lab or at breakfasts. I know you get called in a lot, so we don't often get dinner, but..." She stops suddenly, and a shy smile forms on her face. She'll look anywhere but at me. 

"But what, Emma?" I ask, moving closer to her again. 

"But, it's not like I don't know what you're doing." 

What I'm doing? I work. I'm not... Oh. Sara. Now I can't look at her. I mean, she is twenty, she knows about sex... but I really don't want to think about her thinking...

"I mean... well..." She's beet red now, and I think I am too. "I'm happy for you, Dad. It's a good thing. Not, well..." She stutters, opens her mouth a couple of times, and then laughs. "Ok, anyway. I guess I'm just saying that starting tomorrow I'll be at classes all day and maybe if you guys came over here sometimes I'd see you more often." She pauses and looks me straight in the eyes. "That's all I really wanted to come here for, anyway." A small grin works its way onto her face. 

"I didn't realize, sweetheart..." 

"It's ok." she says as I pull her into a hug. "It just gets creepy all alone here all the time with your roaches." 


	30. Talks

Chapter 30: Talks

"Sara?"

"Hum?" she makes a low moan in her throat as I trace small circles on her back with my fingers. I'm restless and can't sleep with this on my mind, and I know that now, naked and after making love, is as good a time as any to bring it up.

"We need to talk." I feel her stiffen in my arms and I rush to make her understand. "Don't get nervous."

"It's hard not to after a line like that. Usually that precedes, 'this just isn't working,' for me." She leans her head up on my chest so she can look in my eyes.

"Oh, this is definitely working for me," I whisper, dropping a tiny kiss on her forehead. "I just... It's been six months now; I think we need to talk. Seriously."

"About what?"

"Like... like do you want to eventually get married?" I finally blurt out. I think I'm managing to keep a calm exterior, but this is tearing me apart inside. I'm sure my heart is going to burst out of my chest at any moment.

"It's not a requirement. I know you'll be faithful." She says almost too quickly.

"But do you _want_ to?" I emphasize as I look in her eyes.

"Yes. Someday I want to be Mrs. Gil Grissom. But if that's something you can't do, I'm fine with that," she adds. Her eyes are compassionate and still nervous.

"It's definitely something I can, and want, to do." I pull her closer to me. "What about moving in with me?" I need to stop it... I need to address what's really bothering me...

"Give me a day and time." She smiles. I smile back, but start to squirm. "What is it, honey?"

"Sara..." I take a deep breath and look at the ceiling. "Sara, what about children?"

She frowns, presses a kiss to my chest, and then leans her chin there. "Kids," she sighs.

"Yeah." I breathe in and rub her back.

"They were never really a question for me. When other kids were playing house I was running around in the dirt. I never had a strong urge for a family." She pauses and looks up at me. "If I... I would never abandon or abort a child... but I don't see one as a necessary part of my future, either." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and she laughs at me. "How worried were you about that?"

I smile a small smile. "I just, I couldn't see starting all over again. I love Emma with all my heart, but now..." I stop, pull her up against my body, and kiss her soundly. "I was worried that... that it would be something that I'd stop you from doing. I don't want to ever burden you, Sara."

"Grissom!" She pulls out of my arms and sits up, wrapping the sheet around her. "You have to stop that!"

"What?" I say, sitting up. Frustration wafts off of her, and I'm suddenly nervous. She looks away shoving her fist into the pillow and letting out a growl of frustration. I go to reach for her then pull my hand back as I watch her take a few deep breaths. She turns back and slides back over to me.

"Gil," she says, her patience clearly barely held in check, "You can't act like you hold me back, or if something happens that I don't like I won't say something. You know me, do you think I'd sulk silently?"

"No, but–"

"No, no but's. I wouldn't." She takes my hands in hers. "I want to be here, no matter what; kids or no kids, house or no house, bugs and all. I'm here because I love you. You, Gil, you." She pokes me in the chest to emphasize each word. "I love you and everything you entail. I'm not going to run away simply because your beard grays or your hearing fails or because you think you're too old, or not enough. Please, _please_ tell me you understand that?"

"I do," I say, taking her in my arms. "I do. I was just..."

"Irrational?"

"Yeah." When she smiles I have no choice but to kiss her, a slow languid kiss that goes on for days. I pull away slowly. "C'mon. Let's get to bed." She smiles and we snuggle down together. My mind is at least somewhat unburdened now, though I dread the other talk I need to initiate later tonight. We finally settle in and I feel sleep start to drift over me. Then another thought finds its way into my head. "Sara?"

"Hum?"

"My beard is graying?"

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"What did you need, Gil? I need to get home." Catherine makes her way into my office.

"Close the door." I put down my paperwork and prepare myself for this. It's not going to be pretty, or easy. She sits and stares me down. "Catherine, your behavior for the last few months has been completely unacceptable."

"Excuse me?" She squeaks, sitting forward on the chair. "My behavior?"

"We've talked about this before, and nothing's changed." We've had three meetings, in fact.

"Why don't' we talk about _your_ behavior, Gil?"

"My behavior?" She hasn't tried this one before. I see fire in her eyes, and I wonder if we've found what she's truly upset about.

"Yes, your behavior. You're never around; we all have to pick up your slack. You and Sara are taking nights off together now... you call out to be with Emma, you don't come in for early roll outs... What's wrong with _you_ Gil?" Her voice rose with each word until she's leaning over my desk, yelling in my face.

I stand up and put my face in hers. "Sit down." She doesn't move. "Sit down, now." With her eyes still glued to mine she slowly sits. My voice is laced with barely controlled rage now that I know what this is about. "In case you haven't noticed, I've always picked up the slack for _you_. I went on early roll outs so you could get Lindsey to school. I covered when you called out on a minutes notice. I finagled you days off that you needed off for dance recitals and plays and birthdays. I stayed late and came in early to finish your paperwork. In fact, for the last twenty years I've covered for you all, sacrificing my time. I took two vacation days every year, one for Emma's birthday and one for her dance recital. Do you know how much time I've lost or transferred to you? To all of you? How many hours I'd devote to making sure all of the T's were crossed and the I's were dotted so that you could live your life, be with your daughter, when all I ever wanted to do was be with mine? How dare you, Catherine."

"How dare I? How dare _you_ keep that from us! Why couldn't you simply tell all of us? What's wrong with that, Gil?" She stands, and we're face to face over my desk again.

"You know that, Catherine. You heard the circumstances." I say through clenched teeth. How dare she turn this into something about Emma. "But this isn't about me. This is about you in the work environment."

"Sure it is, Gil, sure it is." She turns to leave, just like she always does. This time, I don't let her.

"If you don't shape up, Catherine," She stops and turns to me, "You're going to have to answer to Cavallo. We can all cover for your bad attitude and bare bones work for only so long."

"And you remember, Gil," She says as she opens the door, "how many young dancers come to Vegas to "make it" and really just end up topless showgirls or exotic dancers."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I stare at the bottle of whiskey I just pulled out of the cabinet. One drink. Just one. I pour it into the glass and gulp half of it down. It's been so long since I'd had a drink that I cough at the burn. But I take another big gulp, refill my glass, and put the bottle away before heading to the sofa.

Catherine's wrong. She has to be. My baby girl can't... couldn't... wouldn't...

But then Don's words float back to me... Maggie disowned her own daughter. Could I be that blind? Could Emma be playing me like a violin? Could she not be completely innocent in all of this?

I take another swing of my whiskey when I hear Sara come in.

"Hey Gris," She says as she drops her keys on the counter. I made her one when we started staying here more often. "Finished the B and E. Guy pled guilty and is getting a slap on the wrist." She keeps talking as she walks through the house to the back bedroom, returning in a pair of mesh shorts and a tank top. She stops abruptly and stares at me. "What's wrong?"

"Come here," I say softly, craving her comfort. She obliges and curls herself into my lap, taking my glass from me. Her face falls as she looks at mine, caressing my cheek with a soft hand.

"What's wrong?" Her words are gentle, like the way she's holding me.

"I talked with Catherine today," I say as I bury my head into her neck. I quickly relay the conversation to her, Catherine's parting words flowing out of my mouth all too easily.

"You're going to let Catherine make you doubt your daughter?" Sara asked as she slid off my lap so we could look at each other while we talked, her legs still resting across mine.

"I don't want to..."

"You sound pathetic. You know that, right?" She smiles at me and punches me lightly in the arm. My melancholy is forced back by her candid assessment. "Honey, Cath sees herself as the Alpha female- at work and in your life. Emma and I have knocked her off the throne she thought she had."

I feel my face wrinkle in thought. While this makes sense, it's totally ridiculous. "So you're saying this is a plea for attention?"

"Maybe. I don't know. But she has been acting like the spurned lover, hasn't she?" I nod. "She's jealous, Grissom, that you don't go to her anymore with your problems, that you come to me. She's probably upset that you kept Emma a secret, no matter how immature that may sound. Don't take offense, but for a while she probably felt that no matter how bad her family problems got she at least had more than you, but all of a sudden you have a family that's better than hers, a father daughter relationship that's better than the one Lindsey had and the one she has. She may not even understand that she feels like this, she just knows it hurts."

"Cath is like a sister to me, though..." But suddenly it clicks in my head. Sara's right. It makes sense with the way she's acting. It explains her behavior, but it still doesn't make me feel better about Emma. "But what about–"

"Stop. If you're worried about Emma, talk to Emma. Don't go around assuming things." We stare at each other for a minute before she brings a hand to my face. "Feel better?"

"You always know exactly what to say to me..." I smile and she smiles back as she touches her lips to mine.

"Yeah, well..." She trails off as I claim her mouth in a slow kiss, a tiny sigh escaping her throat. "C'mon, Mr. Neurotic. Bedtime."

"Yes, Ma'am."

(TBC...)


	31. Thanksgiving

Chapter 31: Thanksgiving

"Ok, so just keep an eye on the turkey... baste it every hour..."

"Dad, I get it. You even left me a list for crying out loud!"

I laugh from the doorway as I watch father and daughter stop and smile at each other. Thanksgiving dinner is at their house tonight, and it's the first time that I'm really looking forward to a holiday that previously had only ever meant fighting, slammed doors, and burnt something or other to me.

"Go to bed." She orders as she points to the doorway. A smile cracks on his face as she leans over the counter and pecks his cheek.

"Ok, but don't forget about the vegetarian..."

"I know! Now go!" Emma laughs as she literally pushes her father into me. "Make him go to bed?"

"Bed, now!" I say in my best authoritative voice, knowing I'm going to lose it any second now. I smile at Emma as I usher him into the bedroom and shut the door. I've lost the awkward feeling I had about going to bed with her father right in front of her face even though she's shown no sign that it ever bothered her. I've been slowly moving in now, and I expect to give my landlord my notice as soon as we can figure out what we're doing with my furniture.

"I'm never going to win with you two around, am I?" Gris says as he strips down to his boxers.

I slide into my side of the bed and start to settle down. "Nope." He slides in beside me and we share a tired, yet lingering kiss. "Now get to bed, you heard your daughter!" I say, patting him on the chest a few times.

"Yeah, yeah..." he sighs, pulling me to him and settling us into our normal sleeping position.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Emma, this looks delicious..." I hear Sara talking from my spot in the bathroom. Sara was up and ready first, and has been helping Emma finish up the huge meal. I straighten my collar and walk out to watch my girls as they move around the kitchen, talked animatedly. They both stop, as if they know I'm watching them, and turn to grin at me.

"Dinner's ready!" Emma proudly announces as she picks up the last dish to go out to the table. We file out of the kitchen and sit around the table. Though it's just the three of us I feel an incredible essence of family surrounded by these two amazing women. Just as we begin to pass around the dishes the phone rings.

We all look at each other, knowing what is more than likely going to happen. I slowly stand and answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey Gil," Brass sounds annoyed and apologetic.

"Crime scene?" I ask, cutting right to the chase. Sara and Emma both watch me intently.

"Yeah." I frown and nod at Sara.

"I'll change..." She says as she gets up, her dress inappropriate for a scene, but gorgeous for a simple dinner.

I jot down the address and frown as he keeps talking. "It's not only a multiple, but high profile. I'm gonna have to call everyone we can get."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

ShootingStar: Why aren't you in the field?

LeggomyGreggo: New guy's not trained enough to be here alone, esp. on high profile cases- they didn't even call him in.

ShootingStar: ahhh

ShootingStar: So what are you doing online?

LeggomyGreggo: plugged in my laptop...wasting time while I'm waiting for evidence to get in

ShootingStar: everyone's still at the scene?

LeggomyGreggo: Yeah, except for me and Jacqui. We got called in to cover the lab... help out as soon as they get the evidence in.

ShootingStar: So then you guys didn't get your Thanksgiving Dinner either

LeggomyGreggo: no :(

LeggomyGreggo: I was on call, so I couldn't leave- family's all in NY anyway.

LeggomyGreggo: Why didn't you get your dinner?

ShootingStar: I couldn't eat after Dad and Sara left. There's something really sad about eating Thanksgiving dinner by yourself.

LeggomyGreggo: True, true.

ShootingStar: Hey- I just got a brilliant idea. Will you sign me into CSI?

LeggomyGreggo: Sure, why?

ShootingStar: It's a surprise ;)

LeggomyGreggo: oh. ;) ok

ShootingStar: I'll be there in about a half hour. Don't eat anything.

LeggomyGreggo: ok. See you then.

ShootingStar: bye :)

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Give me a hand, will you?" Her tiny stiletto catches on a crack in the pavement as she tries to get out of the car, pulling out a bag and almost falling to the ground. I run over and reach out a hand to steady her as I take a bag from her. I'm rewarded with a blinding smile when she gets her balance and I help her pull bags from her little blue sports car to carry them into CSI.

"What did you bring?" I ask incredulously as I eye up the three bags I'm holding as she walks beside me with her two.

"We had enough food to feed an army- so I figured to put it to good use was the least I could do." She shrugs humbly as she heads into the break room and starts unpacking dishes and dishes full of food. I help as I watch her out of the corner of my eye; her red dress is simple, flows just below her knees, and sports a neckline that reveals nothing, but I'm enamored just the same. Her humility and simplicity is sexier than any vamp in revealing clothes, but I shove those thoughts away. While she's a woman in her own right, she's Gris's daughter... it just feels... wrong.

"This is just, amazing, I can't believe you did this!" The food we lay out includes a whole turkey, all the trimmings, a vegetarian lasagna and two apple pies. "Where did all of this food come from?" I haven't had a real Thanksgiving in years, especially with home cooking and it's making my mouth water.

"I'm used to cooking for more than three..." she says almost sadly. Oh no. I've made her upset. Think, think.... make it better, idiot...

"Well, you're gonna have some very happy CSI's." I smile at her, and she smiles back. I think I love her smile. "C'mon, let's get Jacqui and dig in before the rest of the troops get back."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Jacqui, Emma and I are laughing as we recite the lyrics to Adam Sandler's "Thanksgiving Song" over apple pie when we hear footsteps coming down the hall and Grissom and Brass shouting orders over each other. The three of us, sitting on the couch, just watch as everyone walks past in a large determined group. The funniest group double take I've ever seen happens as they all stop, turn, and wordlessly enter the break room, confusion on their faces.

Emma smiles and let's out a simple yet joyful, "Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Girl, you did all of this?" Nick says as he swaggers in, his eyes glued to the food.

"Mostly," she says, catching her father's proud eye as the rest of the team filters in. "Our dinner was interrupted, so I figured everyone else's was, too." She watches as everyone just stares at the food and laughs. "It's not evidence, you can eat it..." After a few awkward looks the spell of what's going on is broken and they all rush to deposit their evidence, hurrying back to start talking and milling around the room.

Nick runs over and lifts Emma off the arm of the couch into a big bear hug. "Girl, I don't know the last time I had home cooking that didn't come out of a box on Thanksgiving!" He puts her down and she hugs him back, but something occurs to me.

Like a light bulb it goes off in my head; most of these people would probably have been alone tonight. Nick would have been: his family's all in Texas like my family's all in New York. I'm not too sure about Warrick, he might have family locally, but he's never mentioned them. Brass is the confirmed bachelor, no family around. All Gris and Sara have are each other: before this year they'd have been alone, too.

Cath's the only one not here: she and Lindsey are visiting her mother for the holiday two states away. With the way she's been acting, good riddance!

But then in saunters this breath of fresh air, this amazing young woman who makes Gris happy, makes my heart beat faster, and just makes everyone else smile when she's around. Emma just waltzes in to everyone's lives around here and pulls us together. With one simple gesture she just made what could have been a horrible evening into, at least for a few minutes, a bright night. Here we all are, mulling around, talking and laughing like a team, or even a family, because of her. I'm amazed and watch as she makes her way around the room, caught in conversation between Grissom and Brass as everyone digs into the feast she's brought.

"Could you be anymore obvious?" Sara asks as she takes a seat next to me, candied yams piled high on her plate. I just stare at her.

"Close your mouth, Greg," She says as she spears another sweet potato. "Why don't you go for it?"

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Greg shakes his spiky head, and looks at his feet, a blush rising in his cheeks. "Nah," he says like a little kid talking about a crush.

"Why not?" I ask, indulging in another candied yam- my favorite Thanksgiving treat.

"Oh, so many reasons..." He's deadly serious as he looks up at me, his boyish charm gone and the man that we only get glimpses of sits here. "She's everything I never knew I wanted..." he says quietly.

"So?"

"You think people don't know about you and Gris... but we do. We're happy for you. I'm happy for you." He stands and tosses his plate in the trash. "Not everyone gets happy endings, though." He forces a smile onto his face and picks up an evidence bag out of Warrick's hands as he's eating. "I'll be in the DNA lab..." He walks out; an air of happiness around him that I doubt really exists.

I watch as he leaves, almost no one notices, except for Emma. She turns her head slightly to watch him leave. She tries to give him a smile, but he doesn't see her. With the practiced eye of a CSI who deals in body language I see her sink a little, though the smile stays on her face as Gris puts his arm around her as he talks about the case to Brass. With the practiced eye of a woman who has been looked over by men all her life I see an inner sadness that no one else does.

Is this what everyone else saw with Grissom and me for the last three years?

(TBC...)


	32. A Night and A Knight

AN- um, I'm not a vegetarian. I kinda decided Sara gets to eat fish. If MAC can have her eating a turkey sandwich in his books, I can have her eat fish. :)

Also, I've been getting a lot less feedback than I used to, and it's getting me a bit worried. If you're still reading and enjoying I'd appreciate a note, or if you've stopped reading or don't like what I'm doing, I'd like to know that, too. I'm not fishing, here... I'm just trying to make myself a better author!

Thanks to everyone who's reading, and special thanks to my AWESOME betas Kelly and Marlou!

Chapter 32: A Night and A Knight

"Oh God..." Sara sighs as she pulls me closer to her, her hands tangling in my hair as I continue to kiss her neck, my tongue darting out to taste the salty flesh there. From where I stand between her thighs I pull her closer to me, sliding her along the counter of our kitchen. Her mouth seeks mine out and our tongues mesh hotly. I reluctantly pull away, moving over to the pan on the stove and stirring the contents. Sara pouts at me as she pops another cube of cheese in her mouth.

We've finally moved the last of Sara's furniture into the townhouse this morning, taking advantage of the holiday to scoot back and forth with carloads of boxes. She's officially moved in, and I haven't stopped smiling yet. Though with her attempts to ruin the romantic New Year's Eve I have planned for tonight I just may have to start getting stern: if she keeps eating the cheese we'll just have crackers and wine left.

I lean over and kiss her: a distraction as I pull the tray out of her reach.

"Hey!" Her eyes grow wide and she smirks as I put it on the opposite counter. I raise my eyebrows as I thwart her attempts to reach the platter, blocking her with my body.

"We won't have anything for later..." I drop a kiss on her shoulder, her clavicle, all around her throat as I keep talking. "You don't want to ruin my surprise now, do you?" She makes a low noise in her throat signaling that she doesn't. "Good," I say smiling, adding a peck on her lips for good measure. Sara smiles as I hand her wine glass back to her, then reach around her for the bottle to refill it.

"Trying to get me drunk now, are you?" She laughs.

"Nope." I tap her on the nose before heading back to the stove.

"So how's Emma?" She asks as she watches me flip the fish fillets.

"Doing great. I don't think Mom's gonna want to let her go." Emma flew out to spend Christmas and New Years with my Mom. While it would have been our first together, it was my Christmas to work. I ended up calling Sara in on what the media dubbed the "Santa Slayings:" Three murders in 72 hours, all committed by a man dressed as Santa. Four days (and a total of 3 hours of sleep) later, we caught him. It wouldn't have been a good Christmas even if she were here.

Emma's been calling almost every day, telling stories of how much fun she's having. Emma and her Grandmother are like two peas in a pod: enamored with the arts and subtle senses of humor.

"Did you give Emma her present yet?" Sara asks.

"Yeah, before she left." I smile at the thought. "She just about fell out of her chair when she saw the tickets."

"Hell, even I'm surprised that you were able to get them." She says as she gets up and starts moving around the table, lighting the two candles and then bringing up the two plates towards me. "Floor seats at a Bon Jovi concert, close enough to spit on him... How'd you manage?"

I arrange the fish and garlic pasta on the plates simply smiling at her. "I called in a few favors." Smiling, I hit the lights as I walk over to the table, bathing us in simple candlelight while I set the plates down. "She said it was the best Christmas present anyone could ever get," I add with a laugh.

A full blown Sara-smile starts, "Oh, I don't' know about that." She reaches out her hand to link it with mine, the diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand winking at me in the flickering light. "I can think of better ones."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"10...9...8...7...6..." Grissom plays with my hair absentmindedly, my head in his lap, as we're sprawled on the couch, watching Dick Clark count down the seconds until the "Ball" drops in Times Square.

As it hits "one" Grissom closes the gap between us and kisses me softly. "Happy New Year," He whispers. I scoot up so I'm sitting on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"We still have three hours..." I say as I pick up a grape from the tray on the table. Before I can get it to my mouth, Grissom has it, along with my fingers, in his. His tongue dances around my fingers before he releases them, then he chews the grape with slow deliberateness as he picks up another. He feeds it to me, and I play along, sucking his thick finger into my mouth before releasing it. Tiny kisses make their way up my neck and I almost forget to chew.

"Well, I can think of a few things to pass the time," he whispers huskily at my neck. A purr escapes my throat before I even realize it.

"You were planning to seduce me tonight, weren't you?" I whisper as I take his earlobe into my mouth, gently sucking and biting the bit of skin.

He pulls away, only to consume my mouth in a passionate, sloppy kiss. "Yes," he says as he moves against my mouth, "Is it working?"

While I would love to give into this sweet torture, I can't resist the opportunity to toy with him while we have the whole house and the entire night to ourselves. I quickly stand, a smile on my face as I pick up my wine glass and saunter away from him. He frowns, a twinkle in his eyes, and watches me cross the room.

I turn and smile, swirling my wine. "You're gonna have to work harder than that..."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"So, Gris?" I ask from bed, twirling around my engagement ring.

"Hum?" He makes a noise from the master bath, one that sounds obscured by a toothbrush and toothpaste.

"What, um..." I trail off, nervous about asking him. Emma's practically grown, she doesn't need me meddling in things- but if I'm going to be her step-mother, a concept that still frightens me, I need to know.

"What Sara?" He asks a he walks in, only in his boxers, and slides under the blankets. He moves his pillow around then slides over, deciding to use my stomach as a pillow instead.

"Well," I start again trying to hide my nervousness, "what are your rules?" My hand automatically twines in his hair, gently stroking.

I feel his forehead wrinkle as it shifts my t-shirt against my skin. "My rules?"

"Yeah... rules." I don't think he understands what I'm talking about. I frown, he sighs.

"I don't have rules," he stutters out. He shifts to lay on his back and turns his head to look at me. "What kind of rules?"

"Like... rules. Y'know, for Emma." I sigh and lay my hand on his bare chest, tracing invisible patterns with my nails through the tiny hairs there.

"Ahhhh,"

"Yeah. I mean... she's basically old enough to make her own decisions... but..." I lean back against the headboard. How do I explain this to him?

"You're going to be her step-mother," He says so simply I almost laugh. Leave it to the guy who over complicated everything in his life to simplify this. He lifts my hand to drop a tiny kiss on it before holding it over his heart. "You're really nervous about this, aren't you?"

I look at him and smile, he knows me too well. "Well, yeah!" I say plainly. "I mean, she has no reason to ever listen to anything I say... I mean, hell, I moved in here right after she did... I wouldn't be surprised if she resented me..."

"She doesn't resent you... she likes you. She told me so." He sits up and pulls me to him, cradling me in his arms.

"I just... I don't want to step on any toes here. I don't want her to think that I'm trying to replace her mother, especially after what happened."

"Look, you have nothing to worry about, but if it's really getting to you, why don't you two spend some time together when she gets back next week?" He smiles and kisses my forehead. "What do you think?"

I shrug, smile, and nod. My fears are assuaged, albeit temporarily, but my mission is not yet accomplished. Grissom slides the two of us down, shifting around until we're comfortable.

"Good," he sighs, squeezing me to him for a second.

"So?" I ask again, and he simply grunts at me. "What are your rules?"

"I thought we went over this?"

"No, rules for things she'd be doing now: going out with friends, making plans, dating..."

He frowns with his eyes closed, "Is she dating someone?"

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Yeah, Jim, I get it... but I need to get Emma from the airport today." I sigh. Early rollout today- bad by the sound of Brass' voice. Sara walks out of the bathroom, still looking a bit tired, but more than ready to head to the scene. I roll my eyes at her, she just laughs and wraps her arms around me.

"Well, we need people here now." Jim barks. "All the troops. Huge case... Movie star gunned down in his home... three other db's in the basement... the press is already starting to camp out and the call only came in an hour ago." He sighs as I wrap my free arm around her, "I feel for ya, Gil, I really do. But you gotta figure something out, we need ya."

Sara frowns, intuitively knowing what's going on here. She kisses my cheek then heads over to the bureau, removing her ring and tucking it safely away: it's a secret engagement...for now. "I guess I'll have to, Jim," I say, definitely annoyed.

"Gee, thanks, Gil." Jim throws back before laughing a bit. "You know, you can always do what Cath does," he says before hanging up on me.

I stare at Sara, my face tight as I try to figure out what to do. There's no way I can get in touch with her now to tell her to come home, and I don't want to just send a car for her. Sara looks at me, forcing a smile.

"Do what Cath does, huh?" I look at my phone, and dial another number.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Oh, I'm gonna be late. I pull into the temporary parking area and sigh. Emma's probably already sitting here, waiting for Grissom and freaking out. Lindsay's going to be out of dance class in a half hour... Why do I always say yes?

Oh, who am I kidding, I wanted to come, now I'm going to look like an idiot: late and freaking out. I head in the terminal and look up at the signs, then down to the scrap of paper that has her flight information. Straight, left, down the escalator, left, right... I feel the sweat break out as I search for the gate, finally spotting it. There she is, sitting by herself, her two carry-ons by her feet as she stares out the window and talks on her cell phone.

She looks tan and healthy, yet sad. Gris said he couldn't get in touch with her, so she doesn't know to expect me. I listen innocently as I get closer.

"Oh, Ash, that sucks, I really wish you could have come with me, but I'm happy for your sister." She pauses, listens, and continues, "No, Cali was amazing! I forgot how much fun my grandma could be." I step closer, not wanting to interrupt. "I know I'm weird." She looks up and catches my reflection in the window and turns. She smiles at me and holds up a hand. "Hey, my ride just showed, I'll call you later? Great, bye hun!" She closes the phone and stands.

"Hey, Your dad got called out on a scene- huge deal, sheriff threatened to fire him if he didn't show." She raises her brows, then shrugs and smiles.

"So you get to be my knight in shining armor then, huh Greg?" She adds with a laugh.

I make a sweeping bow, lifting her luggage and swinging it over my shoulder as I come up. "I am at your service!"

"Ok, then," I must be imagining the gleam in her eye; seeing it there because I want to see it there. "Two more suitcases, my humble knight." We start to make our way to the baggage claim as she begins chatting again. "So, how'd you get stuck picking me up?"

I raise an eyebrow, unable to think of a proper comeback that won't make this sound like a chore. Spending time with her is not a chore, but truth be told I'd rather not be the lab "go-for" all the time.

"Ok, I get it. My Dad asked, and if you wanna be a CSI you can't say no to the boss?" She raised her eyebrows and stopped at the carousel. She's as perceptive as her father can be... my _lack_ of movement and reaction told her all she needed to know. "Well, I appreciate this... I think... but you can't sell yourself short. You're a DNA tech, not a babysitter." She lifts a bag off the conveyor and shoulders it. "Besides, I know and you know that my Dad wouldn't hold this against you. If he thinks you're ready to be a CSI, he'll put you in the field. He might use a little field time as a bargaining chip..." she picks up the second bag and turns to me, smiling, "but what person wouldn't?"

"Eh, I guess you're right," I say as I lead her back through the maze of the airport to the parking lot.

"Of course I am." She smiles at me as she dons a pair of sunglasses. "Don't let him, or anyone, get used to jerking you around. If I know my Dad, and I'm pretty damn sure I do, he'll respect you more if you stand up for yourself." She pauses and turns to me, confused as I hold the door to my car open for her. "Not that you shouldn't do people favors anymore...though... 'cause then I'd be stuck at the airport instead of being escorted to the Lab by such a daring and chivalrous knight!"

We smile at each other, and I wonder if she's flirting, really giving advice, or just happy to be home. I round the car, dumping her bags in the back, and get in. "We need to take a little detour first, actually." She raises an eyebrow, I sigh. "Cath needs me to pick up Lindsey from dance class."

She shakes her head, valiantly trying not to laugh. "Hey, mind if I turn on some music?"

"Go ahead." I frown, we've managed to hit the evening traffic, and we'll probably just make it on time to get Lindsay. The speakers burst to life with the last CD I was listening to, and I turn to apologize, but she turns it louder. "You know Sugarcult?" I ask, astonished.

"Know them? I love them!" She smiles at me before I have to turn back to the traffic. "I saw them at a festival a few years back and just couldn't get them out of my head! I'm dying for their new CD to come out!"

"Me too!" I'm not used to people actually liking the music I listen to, never mind knowing who the bands are. "Hey- One of my friends is trying to get tickets to a concert they're playing this summer..."

"Not the one with Good Charlotte and Simple Plan?" She says, amazement in her voice. A quick glance shows her eyes are wide and sparkling. "The one I've been trying to get tickets to for ages? The _only_ punk rock show worth a damn this year?"

I laugh at her enthusiasm, "Uh, yeah." I pull into the dance studio parking lot and turn the music off, not wanting to disturb the parents waiting around us. "I can't promise anything, but I can see if I can put a good word in for ya..."

"You're kidding... you could do that?" She smiles so big I think her face will burst. I nod. Before I know it she's launched herself at me, squeaking about how wonderful it would be if we got the tickets.

This moment, right now, is wonderful in itself. I sigh as she leans back.

Just then the door to the dance studio opens and Lindsay as well as a dozen other young ballerinas bound out into the parking lot.


	33. Warmth

AN- With all the controversy today, I wasn't sure if I should post... but in the end I did because I turned to fic to feel better, and I thought some of you might want to, too. No matter what happens I WILL finish my WIPs, and always be a diehard g/s. Enjoy, please leave feedback, and please contact CBS to let them know how you feel. Lauren

Chapter 33: Warmth

We followed Grissom into the labs as if he were a superstar and we were his entourage. He barked orders, already feeling the pressure from Cavallo on this one, as we accompanied him down the halls. Nicky branched off at Ballistics, Warrick at Trace, and Catherine at DNA as I followed him towards the break room. His back and shoulders were wrought with tension and though I ached to touch them, to slowly rub the knots and tension out of them, I know that's a long double shift away.

He stops in the hallway and I literally walk into his back. I stutter back and turn to stare at his face. He's literally frozen, an eyebrow raised in study. I turn to the glass wall of the break room to see Emma and Lindsay there, each with one hand resting on the table, their gazes at the floor, and classical music quietly leaks out. Emma drops in a squat in front of Lindsay and lifts Lindsay's leg, rotating it around to the side until it's behind her. In the glass I see Grissom slowly smile, some of the stress immediately melting from him.

"Now you try," Emma gently instructs as she sits back in her squat. Lindsay tries once, her leg at a forty five degree angle, dipping a bit before she gets it all the way back, and frowns. Emma smiles. "Don't think about it lifting.... think about energy moving through your leg and out your toe..." As she says this she lifts Lindsay's leg again and holds her ankle in the palm of one hand fairly close to the ground. "Now just think about going out, not up...."

I watch in amazement as this time her leg goes higher, and rotates smoothly, Emma's hand hovering just below in a silent show of support. Lindsay and Emma smile at each other.

"That is so awesome..." Lindsay smiles.

"That's physics... and mind over matter," Grissom says as he rounds the corner and walks in the room, still proudly beaming. Emma smiles warmly, somehow looking like she knows we were watching. Lindsay bounces over to Grissom for a hug, mumbling something about him missing her last birthday party. I slip into the room and head over to the coffee maker, still taking in what I'm seeing.

"We were getting bored, and we started talking about dance... so we started dancing... and it kinda turned into ballet class." Emma shrugged, looking shy all of a sudden and dropping her gaze to the floor. Gris and I turn to the doorway to see a very annoyed Catherine there.

"Well, that's very nice," she says in her best barely-patronizing voice. "C'mon, Lindsay, I have to drop you at your Aunt's." Lindsay's face falls immediately and she moves slowly to her bag. "Hurry up! I don't have all night!" Cath leans against the door and sighs. I know she's tired: she made a production of how she only got three hours of sleep in the last two days. She also had the pleasure of dealing with several unruly suspects and is at the beginning of what looks like one bitch of a case.

That's no excuse, though.

Lindsay picks up her bag and says a quiet goodbye to us as she's ushered out of the room. As she moves down the hall we hear her voice drift back, "Mom, we were just having some fun!"

I hand Gris a cup of coffee and sit down at the table, knowing that Nick and Warrick will also be in soon to grab a coffee and regroup before we try to attack this case. It's going to be gruesome, tangled with media and politics: probably the worst case we've seen since Emma moved in, or since before Grissom and I became a couple. It makes me wonder what will happen when we go home and he'll want to deal with this without our help. I frown into my coffee.

"Shit," Grissom says under his breath, causing Emma and I to stare at him: Grissom never curses. He looks at me expectantly. "We forgot to take two cars."

"Shit," I spit out, slightly less venomous than he did. We'd economized to one car after we realized that being discreet did not have to mean keeping it secret, especially since most of our shift suspected anyway. Tonight's plan had been to bring two cars so Emma could take one home. Oh well.

Nick walks into the room, a smile gently crossing his features as he says hello to Emma. She smiles back but goes to pick up her bags. "No big deal, I'll just get a cab."

"No!" The three of us yell at once, causing her to jump. She stares at us, her eyes popping out of her head.

"Or not..." She says as she shoulders her bag. "How about I just crash in your office 'till someone has some time to drop me off at home?" She asks cautiously.

Grissom gets up, fishing his keys out of his pocket. "Yeah, sorry sweetheart," he says handing her the key to his office. A large, albeit confused, smile graces her face, and lightens Grissom's mood again. With a wave Emma's retreating form is quickly replaced by Warrick at the door.

Warrick shakes his head as he comes in, heading right for the pot and pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee before sitting heavily at the table.

"She mad?" Nick asks as he cringes.

"Nope, Claire has the patience of a _saint_," Warrick sighs, rubbing his forehead. "This is the third date in as many weeks I've had to cancel, and she just smiles and reschedules..."

"Sounds like a great girl," I add in, surreptitiously reaching under the table to take Grissom's hand as I look at Warrick: the tension's returned and I can't help but try to relieve it. Grissom squeezes my hand and doesn't let go.

"Great? More like incredible, amazing, beautiful..._understanding..._" Warrick smiles just a bit.

"I hope you're trying to hold on to her," Nick says, almost sadly. We all know how hard it is to date with this job.

Warrick shakes his head, looking right at Nick. "With two hands, man. With two hands." He chuckles.

We all sigh just a little, mine more because Grissom let go of my hand than anything. With a shake of his head, he opens the folder in front of him and assumes supervisor mode. We all notice the shift and return to our stoic facades as CSI's.

"Let's talk it through," Grissom says, the epitome of cool.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

As I enter my dark office I slow my pace, gently closing the door. This case is going to be rough. Worse than rough: it's going to be mentally, physically and emotionally draining. My head whips around, searching for Emma, finally finding her on the couch curled in on herself, facing the back of the black leather. Her shoes are kicked off and lying at the foot of it next to her bags.

Here, in this moment, she is the epitome of innocence. Out there is only guilt, deviancy, and noise. Everything that makes me come into this room to escape. She is what I have escaped to for the last twenty years of my life. I could simply watch her all night, but not tonight.

Tonight, there are three teenage girls that were raped and murdered in the basement of a teen heartthrob's home, the young man murdered in his bed. We're all feeling this one enough without the political pressure, and feeling that enough already without the media pressure. We've only been on the case a few hours and we're all already ready for it to be over, never mind the coming months of testimony and litigation after the investigation.

I search the room, but fail to find the blanket I know I have. It's not terribly cold, but she seems too exposed, too vulnerable, so I reach over and pick up my lab coat, unbutton it and drape it across her. I'd take her home, but she's already sleeping, and I can't leave now.

But what will happen when I leave here today? I can already feel the urge to curl in on myself, to fall back from everyone and try to detach from it. But somehow that reaction fills me with dread... and I know that it will be the wrong choice. Even if I can mentally retreat I cannot physically retreat from the two that I love most, and I fear the mental retreat would hurt them more than if I simply didn't come home.

I drop down into my chair and sigh. I feel a headache coming on.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It's six a.m. when Grissom seeks me out at a computer terminal, in the dark, cross referencing databases. He closes the door behind him and pulls a chair next to mine. I pause the program and turn to him, a hand slowly coming up to try to ease the worried lines off of his face. They're still there, but he leans into my caress.

"Can you take Emma home for me?" He asks gently. I lean my forehead against his and twine a hand in his hair. "I have a meeting..."

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. The evidence thus far tonight has led us nowhere, and the press is clamoring for information. This case is being thrust out into the public before we even have one. And for my favorite politically deaf person, this case is really getting to him.

"Sure..." I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so hard and so deep that I can take away the fear and stress and demons in his eyes. My hands slowly move down his arms and cover his hands.

"You've already pulled a double... stay home..." He says quietly, nuzzling his cheek to mine.

"I should be back here," I protest gently. I want to be near him, even though I worry that he doesn't want to be anywhere near me.

"I want you home, getting some sleep, so when I get back from this ridiculous meeting I can fall asleep in our warm bed, in your arms..." He punctuates his words with a tiny kiss on my cheek. A small sigh escapes my lips: that sounds like a wonderful plan.

"Ok," I say quietly, dropping my own kiss on his cheek. I stand and he follows as I brush an almost motherly hand over his forehead, trying to melt away the worry. He silently leaves to wake up Emma as I save the search I was working on to pick up tomorrow.

Emma meets me at the car and silently shoves her bags in the back, her eyes still heavy with sleep when she jumps in the passenger seat. "How's Dad gonna get back?" she asks with a yawn.

"Nick was in the middle of processing, he's gonna keep working 'till Gil's done then drop him off on the way home." Emma nods. She's quiet for a moment, then I see her turn her face to me in the corner of my eye. "What was with the freaking out over the cab?"

"Oh, that," I say, remembering how we practically jumped down her throat before. "We worked a case last month: serial rapist who was a cab driver. He'd take these young girls to their destinations and if he saw they were alone he'd wait around a while and..." I stop, clearing my throat. I think she gets the rest.

The rest of the drive is quiet, and when we get back to the house we part ways, each starting our own quiet ritual to fall into bed. We meet in the kitchen, Emma with a bottle of water, popping grapes in her mouth, and me digging through the cupboard for the chocolate I know I hid there a while back.

"Thanks for the ride, Sara," Emma says, putting the rest of the bunch of grapes away.

"Anytime," I say, finally finding my prize. Leaning against the counter I open my wrapper, happy to be in the soft cotton t-shirt and shorts. Emma's in a similar ensemble, her's adorned with little ladybugs while mine's plain gray.

"I'm gonna sleep and unpack most of tomorrow since I'm going back to school the next day. Uh, if you guys need me to do anything..." Emma shrugs with a yawn.

"We probably won't. The case is..." I look for the right word, but she beats me to it.

"It looks really rough... so, just let me know if I can do anything, ok?" Emma smiles a bit. She's always been very good about not expecting anything from either of us when it came to work, but this is more than she's had to deal with before. She walks over quietly, and offers a quick hug. We've been getting closer slowly, but we still have our awkward moments. This is not one of them. In her short hug I find unexpected comfort and total acceptance.

I slide another chunk of chocolate in my mouth as I watch her retreat to her bedroom.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I quietly slip into the house, placing my keys and wallet on the breakfast bar and slipping off my shoes. I pad over to Emma's room, opening the door just until I can see the lump of her in the middle of her bed. It makes me smile.

I'm so tired... I can't even think anymore. I quietly make my way into our bedroom. The sight of Sara, curled up on her side with the worry lines gone from her face releases a feeling of calm in me that I haven't felt all day, my hands work of their own accord, stripping off the clothing until I'm only in my boxers.

My body goes limp as I slide between the sheets and I have to force myself to move over to Sara in my exhaustion. Closing my eyes, I reach out blindly for her. She mumbles as she rolls over and molds herself to my body. Her hair falls against my shoulder as she snuggles into my arms. Her warmth calms me as her deep breathing lulls me to sleep.


	34. Bonding

AN- Sorry for the long delay, but these next couple are going to be rough. Thanks to my wonderful betas Kelly and Marlou! And thanks to Ash for all of her fics, pics and opinions.

The next chapter is almost ready for beta, so it should be out soon.

Feedback is, as always, cherished.

Chapter 34 : Bonding

"This isn't right..." Sara whines into the phone, surprising me with how she's almost pleading.

"Well, it's not changing," My tone's flat: she needs to know there's no argument.

"There's no way I'm going to let you work a double on this case while I take a day off!"

"Well, it's happening, Sara. You need the day off just as much as anyone." I attempt to soften my tone, smiling as I think of her petulant little face. "Honey, sleep, watch a movie, maybe read a little." She sighs, and I know all I have left is the one trump card I can play, "If you're rested you can look at the case with fresh eyes." It feels like we're both holding our breath. "You know I'm right, Sara."

"Fine. Leave me here with nothing to do." She sighs dramatically.

"I'm sure you'll be creative."

"Don't overwork yourself. You should be an example to all of your employees, you know."

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It's nearly seven when I poke my head into Emma's room as I knock on the door, concerned after I heard a loud crash. "Emma?"

She's picking herself up off of the floor, surrounded by piles of formerly sorted clothes and nick knacks.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," She says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"What are you up to?" I hedge into the room and stare at the covered floor.

"Ash sent me all of my stuff that got mixed up with hers when we moved out of school last year." She waves her arm around and shakes her head. "We were planning on still being roommates, so it wasn't a big deal..." I hear a hint of sadness and regret in her voice, but it's gone before I can even think of confronting it. "Anyway, I was trying to put it away and the box tipped."

We both stare at the covered floor for a minute, shaking our heads.

"Well, do you have any plans tonight?" My voice is calmer than I feel. Though we've gotten a lot closer recently, Gris has almost always been with us. 'Girl time' has been few and far between.

"Only cleaning my way out of my room," she replies with a sideways smile, one that I'm sure she inherited from her father. "What were you thinking?"

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"I hate it when they invoke their right to a speedy trial," Cath spat across from me as she threw down the folder she was reading. "A quadruple homicide, we barely have the evidence processed and she's ready to plead not guilty. Damn it, she came to us!"

I carefully place my papers down and rub the bridge of my nose. If she's going to do this all night I don't think I can take it. "Cath, it's part of the job. And that's why she's a psychopath." We're prepping for next week's trial of a fan gone over the edge. The quadruple murder of the teen heartthrob and his three sisters, who the suspect thought were girlfriends, has been all over the media. Not only is the suspect going to plead not guilty, but by reason of insanity. The evidence was forced, the conviction was forced, and now man hours are probably going to be in vein when the fan gets put in a mental hospital for a murder I'm sure she's cognitive of.

"You know this is a waste of time,"

"It's never a waste..." I cut her off again as she tried to respond. "There's still a chance, slim, but a chance, that we can put her away. The evidence will talk for us."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Emma has the best ideas, I swear. Only she would think to skip dinner and go straight to dessert. Not even just dessert: Ben and Jerry's premium ice cream. We've been passing our Phish Food and Karamel Sutra back and forth for most of the night, entertaining ourselves with idle chat while the TV drones in the background.

We're both quiet for a few minutes when she starts quietly, "Sara?"

"Yeah?" I swallow the lump of fudge in my throat and look at her down turned eyes.

"You know that I don't really expect you to try to..." She quietly gets out, toying with the spoon in her ice cream.

"Oh," Suddenly it's very tense and I almost wish she didn't bring it up. "I don't want to try to be..."

"My 'step parent' experiences haven't been very positive, you know?" She looks at me with a piercing blue gaze and I suddenly feel very sorry for her. She looks so meek and lost, yet I've seen in the last months how adult, efficient, and powerful she can be. I've gotten at least most of the story from Grissom in bits and pieces, and the picture I got was a sad one. "I just," she continues, "I just want you to know that I respect you, and I don't think my dad could have done any better."

"That means a lot to me." We smile at each other. That was a lot better than what I had been imagining. Somehow nothing more really needs to be said at the moment on the subject, so we nervously go back to scraping at our pints. She still seems... well... nervous. "Is there, something else?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

Emma laughs a nervous laugh. "It's silly really. I, uh," She takes a deep breath and turns a bit red, her next words coming out in a rush, "I need to find a gynecologist."

I almost choke on the fudge fish in my mouth. Sputters and coughs come out as I drown my throat with a gulp of water. "Sorry, " I say as I turn back, "I was not expecting that." She shrugs and I try to compose myself. "Is, uh, is something wrong?"

"No, no!" She smiles and rushes to assure me. "I... well, I don't know if Dad knows, but my mom's side of the family has a history of..." she waves her hands around helplessly while she searches for the right words, "problems, I guess you could say. There were a few cysts and a couple of cases of cervical cancer." She clears her throat, clearly not entirely comfortable. "I'm fine, but since junior year of High School I've been going. My mom always said that prevention was way better than ending up with a problem. I guess being uncomfortable a few hours each year is a lot better than any of the alternatives." Emma begins to smile, and then is wholeheartedly laughing. "Besides, it's not like I could have asked him to just set that up when he was setting up my ENT appointment, too. I think I would have given him a heart attack!"

We both laugh, and the release feels good.

"How is your hearing?" I ask cautiously.

"Fine." She shrugs as we switch cartons again. "He's just paranoid about it, but I appreciate it."

"So what are you doing for Valentine's Day?" I throw out, not quite sure what response I want to hear, but hoping to move away from the loaded subjects we've been skirting around.

"Rehearsal," Emma sighs almost sadly, but perks up with a slight smile on her face. "But Jon was talking about maybe going out afterward. You?"

"Working. Warrick took the night off to take Claire out, so the rest of us are on." This will be our first Valentine's Day together, and though I'm hoping he'll plan something, I'm not expecting anything. "Oh well. So, who's Jon?"

Emma smiles shyly and then rolls her eyes at her own reaction. "He's just a guy in the department. He was really sweet, showed me the ropes and everything. We're a pair in partnering class: he's got great technique."

I smile, but frown a bit inside. I remind myself not to meddle. "Tell me more about school..."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

My aim is to make assignments a quick affair tonight: the court prep has been moved from the layout room to my desk, and I had to practically throw Catherine out to get her to stop complaining.

"Ok, Cath and Warrick, you have a 419 off of the interstate. Looks like it could be a drunk driver, treat it like a suspicious circs." They nod at me and I hand Catherine the slip.

"Nick, you're taking Greg out on a Trick Roll. Let him lead you, but don't hesitate to correct him." Nick smiles at that. I know he's not fond of the trick rolls, but he could do one in his sleep, and Greg could learn from no one better.

"I'll be in my office, working on the court prep. If you need me you can find me in there."

I escape quickly to my office, afraid of the already burgeoning headache I feel behind my eyes.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"First kiss?" She asks with a smile.

"Jimmy Conners in Study Hall, eighth grade." I reply, popping another kernel of popcorn in my mouth.

"Wow. Um, Eddie Duke at a dance sophomore year of high school." Emma laughs a little, and then makes a show of thinking about her next question. "Ok, Favorite Disney movie?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"Monster's Inc."

"Favorite Novel?" I ask. This is really nice. It's girl talk, and I haven't had that in a while. I'm relaxed and haven't thought about work all night.

"Serious or Trashy Romance?" She asks with an evil smile. I like her more and more with every minute.

"Both."

"Ok, well, Mitchell's _Gone With the Wind_ for the serious, obviously, and... _My Lady Vixen_ by Connie Mason for trashy."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It's a quarter to one when the phone rings. I checked the time twice.

"Grissom?"

At first I didn't recognize the voice or the name.

Then pictures flew across my mind, the connections clicking and I quickly recall her step-cousin status to Emma.

When I made the mental connection of who it was I wondered how she got this number. Then I remembered the conversation we had over the phone when she first started babysitting Emma.

_"I really don't think it's necessary," she'd laughed over the phone. _

_"Please?" I plead, "It will make me feel better. You never have to use it, only for emergencies."_

Only for emergencies.

And I thought all of this with just the uttering of my name.

A second ticks by, and when her name falls from my lips it's shaky at best. "Ann?" I pull my glasses off and rest my hand on the desk.

It's then that I hear her quiet sniffles.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

When I quietly unlock the door I'm still not sure what I'm going to say. I don't know how to say it. The television flickers, sound quietly spilling from it and illuminating Sara and Emma. They're both sprawled on the couch, each using a different end as a pillow, a fleece throw haphazardly hanging onto their tangled legs.

I don't know how long it is that I stand there and stare at them, but Sara's the first to move. Her head rolls and she simply stares at me for a long moment; it's like she's trying to decide if she's really awake.

"Why are you home?" She asks, sleep dropping her voice low.

My jaw works for a few seconds, but nothing comes out. Sara, my savior, senses something's horribly amiss and gets up to enfold me in her arms. "It's Maggie," I whisper in her ear as she runs her hands up into my scalp. "It's bad."

She says nothing, and doesn't have to. I selfishly sap the strength from her embrace, and untangle myself as I hear Emma stir.

She's sitting on the sofa, looking at me with wide eyes as I crouch in front of her. Sara hangs in the background, waiting to hear what has brought me home at two in the morning.

"Emma, something's happened..."

"Just tell me, Dad," She says, her eyes already tearing, as though she can tell what's going on.

"Your mom was in a car accident. It's really bad." I don't think I can go on, I don't think I can face her as I tell her this.

"How bad, Dad?" She chokes out as she forces the tears back.

"They're saying...." She grabs my hand as I stutter. "They're saying she only has a matter of hours."


	35. Quiet Desperation

Chapter 35: Quiet Desperation

Since the moment I received the call from Ann, I've been filled with a sense of dulled urgency: a bubbling inside that tells me to move precisely and swiftly, and a dread that pulls at my heart and limbs and keeps me from practically doing anything at all. Our arrival at the hospital has been all Sara's doing: somehow she knew that I wouldn't be able to do any of this, and she drove us to the airport, screamed at the ticket counter agent, and called ahead for a car to take us to the hospital all by herself. I even think she may have packed my bag; I'm not quite sure.

The last hours are a blur of nervous energy and pain: not pain for any loss I might feel, but pain for Emma. Any words out of her mouth have been quiet and direct. Her eyes are hollow and her posture is too straight as we head into the sterile hospital surroundings.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth about her mother, she stood, dropping my hand from hers. "I'll pack," was all she said as she softly made her way to her room. There was no yelling, no sobbing, no pounding on the walls or slamming doors. I could have handled that. But the quiet 'click' as she carefully closed her door and the deathly silence that followed scared me more than anything.

Later, when Sara knocked on her door to tell her that we were leaving for the airport, she simply emerged, packed duffel bag swung over her shoulder. She was still hollow, and faint blotchy red marks told me she'd cried silent tears because I couldn't remember hearing any sounds coming from her room. We moved ghostlike to the car, through the airport, and onto the plane with no words, no emotions.

Halfway through the flight she put her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. I put my arm around her, trying to help her, subliminally sending her some kind of message, but I don't even know what I would send, or say. _I'm sorry_ is so cliched and_ I love you_ doesn't fix damn thing.

We walked off the plane, our small duffels all we need as we find the driver at the gate, his sign with our name on it beckoning to our disembodied minds. "Where to?" he asks as we climb into the town car. I reply blindly, and before I know it we're at the hospital's reception desk.

Emma walks ahead of me to the elevators, her back ram rod straight and her posture belaying all the emotions I'm sure she's feeling. I join her in the next available car with three strangers and a nurse. She quietly pushes the button for the intensive care floor, an innocuous looking twelve, and I see the nurse give us a pitying look. Emma blindly reaches back and takes my hand.

The doors open up to the ICU and I'm awestruck at how deserted it initially looks. We head to the reception desk, Emma's hand still in mine. "We're looking for Maggie O'Connor," I quietly inform the nurse, afraid to break the spell around us; afraid that it will all come crashing down.

"Are you family?" She asks, almost devoid of emotion. I wish I could be like that right now. I've been accused of it in the past, and I understand it, and at this moment I miss it.

"I'm her daughter," Emma says, her own face stoic.

The nurse nods, and turns to me. Before she can ask, Maggie's sister walks over and speaks to the nurse. I don't pay attention to what she says, and when she starts to move away she signals us to follow. As we round the corner we see that Jennifer's not alone: a small group huddles outside of the last door at the end of the hall made up of family that includes Maggie's mother. Another group of familiar people huddle a few doors down.

I stand back as Emma's almost silently greeted and hugged by her extended family, knowing that though I'm welcomed, I'm not truly wanted here. Jennifer lingers, the red puffiness around her eyes catching stray silent tears.

"What happened, Jennifer?" I quietly ask, my eyes still on Emma as her grandmother whispers to her.

"They were on their way home from a party. Don was driving. He, uh, he wrapped them around a telephone pole. They won't tell us yet, but we're pretty sure he was drunk." She pulled out a tissue and dried her eyes. "He's been in and out of surgery already. He's worse off. They're trying to decide now if they want to donate his organs or not." Jennifer's words are venomous.

"How's Maggie?"

"We just took her of the ventilator. She's not doing too bad on her own, but they're still not hopeful. She has a living will, so they can't do much more for her." She turns away, and laughs cynically. "I never liked you much, Gil, but at least you were smart enough not to do something this God damned stupid!"

"Somehow, that means a lot," I mutter as Emma walks toward me.

"Dad... I'm gonna..." she nods toward the door that leads to her mother. "Do you want to..."

"Only if you want me there." I say, taking her hand gently. I fee an almost imperceptible shake in her hand, and she needs me to be brave, every cell in my body tells me that now. "Why don't... why don't I go first, ok?" Her smile tells me I've said the right thing, though I don't really know what I'm going to do in there. I nod and move away, preparing myself as I pass the extended family I never belonged too.

Inside the frosted door is a quiet world disturbed by the almost imperceptible beeps and whirrs of the machines around her. Maggie's living will is very specific; her outlines for stopping life support are only slightly less rigid than my own. I'm used to seeing people in all states, but the bruised arms and blackened eyes are more meaningful when you know the person. I walk closer to the bed, and I can see the marks on her skin where the tape held the ventilator to her skin. She's as pale as death itself, and a glance at the monitors across from me signal that she'll be there shortly.

My hand hovers above hers, and I look at her face. It used to be so full of promise. Twenty years ago I thought her eyes held my future. How right and wrong I was at the same time. I feel the need to talk to her, though I don't know if she can hear me or not. Though it's unscientific, I like to think that maybe she does hear me. I almost don't recognize my voice it's so choked with emotion when I speak.

"I'm sorry how things had to happen, Maggie. I'm sorry that Emma's going to have to lose her mother, and that you two haven't spoken in months. I'm not sorry that she's with me now, though, and I hope in some way you can understand that. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and you gave me her. I'll be forever grateful, and connected to you, for that." I take a deep breath and finally touch her hand. "Don never deserved you, Maggie, but neither did I. I hope... I hope that you'll be happy now, and that you know I'm going to take care of Emma, no matter what it takes."

I almost expected a response from her: corporeal or divine I'm not sure. Of course I didn't get one. I squeeze her hand a bit and turn away, not quite sure what I should be feeling. Emma meets me outside of the door and we pass silently. I take her hand in mine for a second, but let her move into the room and yield to her privacy.

I step away from the prying eyes of her family. They've always held a sense of betrayal and contempt when looking at the man who got their perfect Maggie pregnant. Somehow it was my fault that she wouldn't marry me, that by her admission she stayed in the relationship months after she felt it was over. Settling away from them a foot or so, and leaning against a sterile white wall, I wonder, with all the turmoil I'm feeling, how in the world Emma's still standing.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Sleep doesn't come tonight, and I don't fight the insomnia. Instead, I roll over and stare at the empty side of the bed: Grissom's side of the bed. It was like leading around two zombies tonight, and I can't help but wonder how they're doing. They're probably just getting to the hospital now.

If it hadn't been for Emma, Grissom probably wouldn't still be connected to Maggie. Maybe he'd learn of her death in weeks, or months, or even years from now. He'd feel a spark of nostalgia, but he wouldn't be involved. Emma makes him involved.

How does it feel to know that the mother of your child is dying?

What in the world does Emma feel? She probably thought she had years to reconcile with her mother, to come to the conclusion that it didn't matter if anyone was wrong, or who was wrong, but it mattered that they were family.

I've already talked to Catherine. She's going to take care of the politics, and I'm going to go in tomorrow and pick up the case Grissom was prepping. I'll prep it myself, and if he's not back in time for the trial, I can step in for him as a CSI that was on the case. I'll make sure his bugs get fed (though I may need to call him about that, I'll put it off as long as I think is possible), and I'll keep up the house so he has something familiar to come back to.

He's never needed me before, and it scared me when he just stood there, looking sadly at Emma's closed door. I'm glad I could do the little that I did, but the emptiness, the utter confusion and sadness that I saw in his eyes was almost crippling to me.

I pull his pillow close to me, and inhale the scent. It's silly, but it makes me feel closer to him. He should call me first. I don't know what he'll find in New Jersey, but I don't want to interrupt anything.

I laugh.

He'll probably call in a panic when he realizes that he simply left without a thought to work or his bugs... or even me. I can't remember him ever doing anything that emotionally driven, that blinding before. Everything will be taken care of here, though. I'm going to make sure that all he needs to think about is Emma.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

When Emma emerges her face is a splotchy red, tear tracks still wet as she swipes at them. She dodges her mother's family and quietly moves to me. I push off the wall and meet her half way, pushing the tangled stray hairs from her face. She looks up, her blue eyes full of tears, and I can't help myself. I kiss her forehead for a long moment, feeling her soft skin hot with released emotion, before she pulls away and gently leans into me. Her quiet hot tears filter though my shirt, burning my skin like acid, making her pain mine.

We stay like this forever, until she's clinging onto me to simply stand. When I look around I see that most of the extended family is gone, leaving only Maggie's mother, her sister, and us. Her mother's visible through the frosted glass door, sitting at Maggie's bedside, and Jennifer's sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, sleeping. I pull Emma towards the vacant bench across from the door, and she numbly follows, leaning into me once we're seated.

A nurse moves in and out about once every half hour. A doctor checked her vitals around 11:00 am. Emma was sleeping against my shoulder when he told us that she was having trouble breathing on her own and it would be a matter of hours at most. At noon Maggie's mother came out and left without a word, coming back ten minutes later with a cup of coffee for me and one of the sweet, bottled coffee drinks for Emma when she woke.

We all drank silently, keeping up vigil for the woman inside. Jennifer and her mother took turns sitting while Emma and I stayed outside.

It was 1:07 pm when the nurse rushed past us into the room. Emma stood, and I followed suit, putting my hands on her unsteady shoulders.

It was 1:13 pm and sixteen seconds when the doctor hurried past.

And it was 1:22 pm when Jennifer and her mother walked out, their bodies exhausted and their eyes red. No words were needed; we knew she was gone.

The four of us walked away from the ICU room just as a gurney was wheeled in.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"I'll drop you at her house." Jennifer says as we drive along, her voice so measured and quiet it's frightening.

"The nearest hotel will be fine..." I start, but she stops me, pulling onto Emma's old street. "Don't be silly. Maggie would have wanted you to stay here. Besides, someone needs to feed the monster."

She says nothing as we pull up in front of the house, even though Emma and I are openly confused. We quietly get our bags, and I look to Emma. "Key?" I ask.

She silently walks over to a lawn sculpture and lifts it, pulling the key from the hidden base. Jennifer drives off and I carry our two bags into the house, a barking dog getting louder from the back of the house.

"You have a dog?" I ask, hopefully gently, but I'm drained and not quite cognitive of my words anymore.

"I guess so," she said as she moved to the back porch where the barking is coming from. Minutes later she carries in a small golden lab puppy who is now happily munching on a treat. "Meet the monster," she says with a bit of a smile.

I reach a hand out and pet the downy fur as I search for his tags. "Bailey," I almost laugh. We spend long minutes over the puppy until Emma yawns, starting an almost never-ending chain reaction.

"I guess I'll head to bed..." Emma says, moving away with the puppy and up the stairs.

I watch her slowly move up the stairs, and then slowly take in the foreign house. A lot has changed in the few years that I haven't been around, and I wonder how much has changed in the last few months. As I move to take in the living room I almost trip over the duffel bags. I lift Emma's over my shoulder and take mine by the handle and head up the stairs.

I'm almost at the top when I see her shadow in the door of her room. She's just standing there in the doorway, unmoving, her back to me as the puppy wriggles in her arms. Quietly I set the bags down and move toward her. If she hears me she doesn't move, and as I get closer I can see the shake of her shoulders, signaling the silent tears.

I'm still unprepared for what I see.

Gone are the pink fuzzy rug and the light pink walls. The painted border of roses, her heavy pink drapes that blocked the early morning sun, and the stars on the ceiling are gone, too. Her furniture, the white bedroom set that never made it's way to Las Vegas, the one that I know gave Emma some hope of someday being welcomed back home to her mothers, is gone. It's all gone.

The walls are white, the floors are hardwood, and the window is covered in mini-blinds. A radio, a small TV, and a heavy wood sideboard are against one wall; an exercise bike, treadmill, and weight lifting bench lines the other.

The door that was painted white with Emma's name and a pair of ballet shoes stenciled on the front is missing, nothing replacing it on the exposed hinges.

I prayed that we were looking at the wrong room, but I knew we weren't.

"I'll sleep in the guest room," Emma muttered, moving past me back into the hall, letting the puppy to the floor as she picked up her bag, "If it's still there."


	36. Pride

AN- I'm switching pov for this chapter in a major way- pov from someone new, too- hopefully you'll be clear on who is talking in the first few paragraphs.

Also, I wanted to thanks everyone who is reviewing. Reviews always put a great big smile on my face.

Chapter 36: Pride

I take a few nervous steps into the room and smooth down my hair. I can't remember the last time I was at a real funeral. The funeral home we are in is filled with people quietly moving about, their conversations ranging from soft whispers of loss to barely restrained laughter.

I don't see her yet, so I keep moving into the strangely inviting but macabre room.

The casket is up front in the next room: closed. I don't think I would have wanted to see her face, anyway. I didn't skip a day of classes and drive for hours on end running solely on caffeine to see a woman who wasn't strong enough to stand up to her husband or family and love the people she should have.

No. Who I came for is silently sitting on the end of the front row that's reserved for family. He's sitting behind her, holding her hand over the back edge of the seat. Her eyes are on the floor, not bothering to feel pain as most of her mother's mourners skip right over the two of them. He's staring at her like maybe he can somehow make her feel better through his simple will alone. I wish that were the case.

It's beautiful how they cling to each other, and ugly how these amazing people have been shunned from this elitist group. I've never met two better people in my life.

I skip the line for the coffin, preferring not to deal with that, and instead head right to Emma's side. Dr. Grissom sees me first and just watches, with almost a smile, as I put a hand on Emma's shoulder. It's only a second that her tear stained face looks up at me before she'd standing and hugging me so tightly I may never breathe again, but I let her squeeze, and I squeeze back as hard as I can.

"Ash, thank you," she says between sniffles, tugging at my heartstrings.

"What's a roomie for?" I joke as she pulls away, trying to hide her splotchy face. I wonder, somewhat guiltily, if she's crying for the loss of her mother, or because of how separated they are. Dr. Grissom quietly greets me with a real smile this time and a hand on my back. Even though he wasn't physically there a lot for Emma, there wasn't a day that went by when she didn't talk to him, or had some story for me about him. He always sat on her shoulder wherever she went, and she was proud of that.

I asked her about it one night freshman year, and the conversation stayed with me, allowing me to see a side of her I never knew before.

_"Em, I thought you lived with your mom?"_

_"I do." She said curtly, a flash of contempt in her eyes. _

_"You don't like it, though." It wasn't a question. _

_"I've always been much more like my Dad." She sighed and turned her chair around to look at me. "My mom's family seems to think that I was a mistake. My mom's usually ok, but she's not a very strong person sometimes. She lets them sway her. I kinda think she might be a little bi-polar some times with the mood swings she has. Anyway, she was the one that took us from California to Vegas, and from Vegas to Jersey. I wanted to stay with my Dad, and he wanted me to stay with him, but there was some issue with custody. He always thought it would be better I stayed with mom, even if she treated me like a maid more than a daughter sometimes." _

_Emma's melancholy melted for a moment and I watched her smile. "Besides, I can't picture my Dad trying to give me the 'you're becoming a woman' talk."_

_We laugh for a second at the image, but quickly fall back to our serious tone. _

_"Didn't you ever tell your dad?"_

_"No." She stood adamant, her jaw line set. "He feels bad enough without having to think they treat me bad. They don't. It's just... I'd rather be with him." _

_"So? You're old enough to take care of yourself and make your own decisions! Why don't you go back to Vegas?"_

_Emma looked profoundly sad. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be what he wants..." her voice dropped to a whisper. "If he thought I was a mistake, too, I wouldn't have anyone left."_

Watching her now, as supposed family quietly stalks by doing their best to ignore her, I understand how she could feel so abandoned. What I don't understand is why they treat her like she has the plague. She's one of my best friends, a person willing to go to the ends of the Earth for a friend with the biggest heart I've ever known. I can feel my anger rising, my instinct to protect her coming out full force. I want to drag these elitist snobs out by their stuck up noses and tell them how wrong they are about her.

The anger dissipates in a rush when I look over at Dr. Grissom, and is replaced by sadness. His body tells me he's resigned himself to this treatment by these people, maybe even convinced himself that he deserves it, but it breaks his heart to see Emma all alone. He keeps looking around the room, holding Emma's hand as a constant source of reality, as he searches for someone to console her. He hurts more for her than he does for himself.

Something about watching these two, about knowing them for the last two years, that's shown me more beauty and strength than I ever knew existed.

A priest quietly moves to the front of the room and everyone begins to move to a seat. Emma, four empty seats away from everyone else in the front row of family, stands and pulls her father by the hand, silently sitting him three seats in from the aisle. With a plea of her eyes, she takes my hand and seats me on the aisle, and quietly sits between us, holding our hands like lifelines as the priest begins.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Emma and I wander down the staircase as the viewing room is cleared to move the coffin to the hearse, leaving Dr. Grissom looking lost at the top of the stairs. I follow her into the ladies room, but stay over by the sinks as she moves into a stall. Two older women move in, their hushed voices and conversation getting louder as they enter the sanctuary of the bathroom.

"Did you see her in the front row?"

"She has a right to be there, you know."

"But after running off like a spoiled brat? She's got some nerve coming here. He does, too."

"Imagine how wonderful Maggie's life could have been if she never met that dipshit."

It doesn't take much to realize whom these two crass women are talking about. I want to split their surgically enhanced noses with a few well placed punches.

"It's a tragedy, really. It all started with one bad choice."

"How much you want to bet she's out in Vegas prostituting herself and doing heroin? I'm sure he's a _wonderful_ role model for her."

Emma quietly walks out of her stall to the mortified faces of the women, washes her hands and, gets a paper towel, all with quiet dignity. Before we leave she turns to their still stunned faces. "I'd ask you not to talk about things you know nothing about. If you want some gossip you might want to think about how Don drove drunk and wrapped my mother around a tree. That's the tragedy here."

Emma turns and walks out in measured steps, nothing else coming from her. At the top of the staircase she walks to her father, and without a word I follow them out to the limousine for family.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Even if I didn't like her, Ash, I still loved her."

It's the first thing she's really addressed to me all night, and sitting here in the guest room, me on the couch, her lying sideways in her bed as the sun sets and night slowly creeps in, she feels more secure.

"I know you did," I say simply as I kick off my dress heels. We're still in our black clothes, but we're sprawled out as if we're back in school in sweats on a Sunday, talking about boys. This is just a little more serious, though.

"I guess I thought I'd have more time. That maybe..." She takes a deep breath, and I'm surprised she's not crying again. "That maybe if I was successful she'd understand... maybe she'd want to love me again."

"I'm sure she always loved you, even if she didn't agree with you."

"I'm not sure I can believe that, Ash." her voice is so flat and defeated I want to cry. She quickly changes gears. "When do you have to leave?"

"In a few hours," I wish I didn't have to leave, but I do. "I need to be back to run the dance tonight, and I have an eight am class tomorrow."

"What class?" She asks, profoundly excited in changing the subject.

"My science with Gotlieb: Chemistry and the Modern world." I say, rolling my eyes and laughing at the ridiculous required class. Emma laughs a bit, and it makes me feel a little better about leaving in a few hours.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I start the engine in my car and look back one more time at the two figures in the doorway. A few tears drop on my cheeks as I pull into traffic and start my drive back to school. I wish I could stay longer, but Emma wouldn't have it. She knows how important school is to me, and a friend's death in the family isn't exactly an excused absence. She practically shoved me out of the house when I started to edge that I could stay the night if she wanted.

I miss her, and it sucks that I can't be there for her now. But I know that she has all she needs with her right there in that empty house with her.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"She's almost too quiet," I sigh into the cell phone at my ear, idly watching the muted television.

"It's hard for her," Sara says quietly. "And she's a lot like you, Gil. She might just not have the words... I don't know how there _can_ be words for this."

"I..." I stutter, having trouble with words myself, now. My eyes are drawn to the television as I watch the woman run up to the old estate, a lump forming in my throat because I know what happens next. "I don't know what to do for her, Sara."

"You're doing all you can right now: you're there for her." I can hear her smile a little through the phone. "It won't be easy. But she has you, and I'm sure that will be all she needs. Wait- hold on,"

I hear the phone scuffle a bit, and muffled voices. She's taking her break in my office tonight to talk. I practice my lip-reading on the television for a bit, but am foiled when I realize that I know all the words to this part.

"Sorry, it's Nick. We might have a break in our case."

"Go..." I say with a smile, knowing that she'd ignore it if I asked her to stay here and talk to me. "I'll call you tomorrow with our flight information."

We say our quiet goodbyes, and I relax back into the sofa, turning the volume back up on the television so that it's little more than a whisper: Emma should be asleep.

A few minutes later I hear the stairs creek, and I turn to find her softly sneaking down them.

"Hey," I say quietly. She half smiles at me. "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep." She ambles toward me, her body screaming that she's tired. I'm sure it's her mind that's keeping her awake after today. She drops heavily on the couch and I wind my arm around her shoulders. She rests on me limply, wrapping her legs up under herself. "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep." I parrot back with a little smile. She snuggles into me and we turn our attention to the television. I wince.

"_Gone With the Wind_." She says simply. We watch as Scarlett discovers her mother's dead.

"We can change this..." I reach for the remote, but she pulls my hand back.

"No. I like this movie. It's one of my favorites."

We sat quietly and watched the epic unfold as Scarlett runs into the fields and closes the first act of the movie. Emma's lips move as she silently quotes Vivian Leigh.

_"As God as my witness....as God as my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God as my witness, I'll never be hungry again."_

(TBC...)


	37. Listening

Chapter 37: Listening

A/N: This was written probably about a year ago. It is the first in my new weekly update effort to get this story finished! I have a backlog of about 10 chapters to post, then I better get my writing hat on! Expect updates about once every 5-7 days, more or less depending on the week. Thanks to Kelly, who has graciously said she'll continue to beta for me, and to Michael who is silently urging me to get this done with already! I hope those of you that are still reading enjoy. If you're new to IandB, I hope you enjoy, too! ~TP

*~*~*

* * *

My stomach flips, and I'm not quite sure what I'm doing.

_Hey, Greg, do me a favor?_

A shaky finger rings the doorbell on the townhouse I've only ever been to once, but seen in my mind so many times since then.

_You can't run overtime as a trainee, anyway._

The cups of coffee in the carrier tip precariously, my weight shifting from side to side nervously.

_It's... It's a personal favor._

She was the one who convinced me to stop doing personal favors- at least the menial ones... but Grissom's eyes were so blank, so dead... I couldn't say no. I wouldn't have said no about this, anyway.

_Can you check up on Emma? She- She probably won't like it- but I'm going to be here and... and I haven't left her alone this long since... _

I couldn't decide in that short moment, when his eyes bared the man instead of the supervisor and mentor, what exactly he was worried about. Deep inside a fear coiled up that maybe, just maybe, he was afraid of her hurting herself, but that was suppressed quickly. I didn't want to think about that. He'd only been back to work three days- they'd only been back a week, and already he was pulled into a serial case. It has been great for me, following the case, learning new things... but we've watched Grissom work silently, without the fervor he once had, and we can see the worry lines around his eyes and forehead are more prominently displayed than before.

The door slowly creaked open, her brown eyes and slightly disheveled hair peaking out. "Hey," she whispered. She peaks a little around the door then opens it all the way.

"Hey." I enter and look around. Her hands move over her shirt nervously and her eyes are bloodshot. I can't tell if she just woke up or she was just crying, probably both. "Gris is gonna be working at least a double... asked if maybe I'd take his place as your breakfast buddy." I shrug but she smiles knowingly.

"He's really worried about me, isn't he?" She says, taking the tray from my hands and putting it onto the breakfast bar. If this weren't such a bad time I'd let my mind linger on how adorable she looks: tousled hair, no make up, black sweat pants cut to capris, a grey shirt, cut around the neck and hanging off the shoulder touting "dancers do it turned out" and bare feet make her just about the cutest, and somehow sexiest, thing I've ever seen.

And then her smile falls, tears form in her eyes, and my heart breaks.

"He's so worried about me," she whispers, dropping onto a stool at the breakfast bar, "and I know he can't help it, but there's nothing he can do right now." I move closer, wanting to stop the flow of tears, but I don't dare. "She's dead... and short of any kind of miracle, nothing can change that."

The words come out slowly, my brain picking each carefully. Suddenly I feel like this short visit will be filled with significance: a moment when we move from casual friends to something more involved and trusting. "I'm sure... I'm sure he just doesn't know how to help." I hate this... I hate watching women cry, and knowing I can't do a damn thing to make them stop. I never want to see her cry again in my whole life.

She looks at me, wide eyed, and shaking her head. "He can't, Greg! My mother died because my step father decided to dive with too much liquor in him! I haven't talked to her in months- and I'll never talk to her again!" She swipes at the salty drops that turn her cheeks a blistered red. "We should have... I should have..."

"I know..." I say, finally reaching out a hand to hers.

"You don't!" She yells, jumping back. I'm so surprised by her outburst that I just stare as she begins pacing the room like a caged tiger. Suddenly she stops and crumbles to a heap on the floor, and I rush to her, panicking that she's passed out, but as I fall to my knees in front of her she lifts her face to mine, her eyes steely and her face beet red. "That first night in Jersey, as I was getting ready for bed in the guest bedroom, you know, because they'd gotten rid of any trace that I'd been there and turned my room into a sterile exercise room," she whispered to me, her voice low and biting, "there was a moment, maybe even a good five minutes, that I was happy she was gone– that they were both gone." Our eyes hold, hers still dripping over her matted lashes. "How am I supposed to deal with that, Greg? That I was happy she was dead?"

And when she crumbled again, I pulled her into my arms, set on not letting her fall to pieces, even if I couldn't stop her tears.

* * *

Leaning back in the couch, her feet on the table and her arms thrown over her head, she looks like a cemetery statue: her face angelic, but her expression unmoving, her eyes far away, and her soul gone. I sit across from her, wracking my brain for something to do. We've been quiet for too long now. The puppy in her lap is sleeping, and stroking his fur seems to take all of her attention.

"I didn't like her, Greg, but I loved her." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and my eyes snap back to her face.

"You can't choose who your family is," I start cautiously. "You did the best you could with what you had. Sometimes... sometimes you can't control how you feel about someone, especially if they're the ones that are eliciting those feelings. You weren't upset at her without a reason," I'm guessing now... who knows if she'll ever really tell me all that's happened.

Emma shrugs, flips on the TV and leans into the arm of the couch. "Maybe that's true." A deep, heavy, and guilty sigh falls from her lips. "I just...haven't figured that out yet."

* * *

We're watching a random Saturday Night Live rerun when Griss slips into the living room. Emma and I turn, both staring at the large bag of fresh lemons he's holding as the puppy bounds off of the couch to lick at Gris' feet.

"Sara's decomp," he says by way of explanation.

For a moment we all just kind of stare at each other, not really sure what to do while the puppy's exuberance is ignored. So, being the odd man out here, I get up and slip out, with just quiet waves and goodbyes. The door clicks shut behind me and I stand outside on the steps, trying to figure out just what happened in there. It felt like I just stepped out of a time warp, out of some kind of black hole where nothing existed but that small living room.

I shake my head and get into my car. I have to get rid of this uneasy feeling if I'm ever going to get any sleep tonight.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?"

Looking up from my paperwork I see Greg, nervously hovering in my doorway. "Yeah, um, close the door." This almost makes him more fidgety as he sits across from me. He avoids my stare for a few seconds before trying to make conversation.

"So how's the paperwork?" He nervously asks, a facade of interest falling into place.

I cut to the quick, "Greg, what did Emma tell you yesterday?"

"What?" He asks, clearly surprised as she sits up straight. His eyes go wide and I see almost fear in them.

"I need to know what you guys talked about..." I sigh, leaning forward. Maybe this shouldn't be done here, but... I'm lost, and I'll do anything to find my footing again. "It… It made her look better, and I need to... I need to talk to her myself, Greg."

His face changes and suddenly we're talking man to man, not nervous subordinate to boss. "So why do you need to know what we talked about?" I start to talk, but he stops me before any sound can get out. "I mean, have you even tried to talk to her by yourself? Or just listened?"

I can feel the guilt on my face. "Why do you think I need to know what you talked about? Of course I tried talking to her!" I feel like I'm almost yelling, but my voice is nothing more than an angry whisper. I drop my head, surveying my desk. "Nothing I said was right..."

"Did you try just listening?" Greg cocks his head, and isn't as judging as I'd expected him to be. I guess maybe I just automatically expected him to see me as wrong, or some horrible parent. "She's go a lot to say."

He holds my gaze, looking at me like the answer is somehow right there, and he can't understand why I haven't found it yet. It's ok, Greg, I don't know either.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you what we talked about. I wouldn't betray her trust like that."

"Greg, I need..."

"Maybe... Maybe you should tell her how you feel." He raises his eyebrows at me. At first I'm inclined to ignore his comment, to yell and scream and throw something across the room to get him to understand what I'm saying... and suddenly it occurs to me that he does. He's just showing me a different way to get there. I tilt my head, and he continues. "I will tell you that she's very upset with herself right now, for a lot of different reasons- some of them I'm sure you can guess, and some I don't think you ever could." He pauses. "How did _you_ feel when her mother died, Grissom?"

Silence.

I can feel it inside. I can feel every emotion I felt, but I can't separate them.

"I was upset."

He doesn't believe me. "What kind of upset?"

"I–" I stutter, and stop. It's so easy to say I'm upset... but to really explain it? I look at him as I try to sort it out.

"Don't tell me," He whispers, leaning forward onto my desk as he gets out of his chair. "Tell her... she needs to hear it." And with a talent he must have learned from Sara, he's gone before I have a reply.

* * *

"Where's Sara?" Emma asks as I hand her a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs before slipping into a seat across from her.

"Still running with her decomp. She's got a lot of day work with this one." Emma just nods, and drops a few pieces of egg on the floor to appease the begging Bailey before eating a few of her own.

We eat in silence, and I follow her into the living room when we've cleared our plates. "Can– can we talk?"

"I don't know, can we?" She smiles as she parrots back the smart-aleck comment her mother used to use to make her remember the difference between 'can' and 'may.' A small smile quickly fades as we sit on the couch. "What's on your mind, Dad?"

I take a deep breath, and just start talking from my heart, " Emma, when your mother died, I was very upset. But even more than that, I was worried about you."

* * *

The door clicks. Clothes rustle. The bed creeks. A warm arm snakes around my middle.

"How'd it go?"

"Why are you still awake?" Grissom whispers.

"Can't sleep without you. Stop avoiding the question." Sleepily I roll into his embrace, feeling the tiny hairs on his chest tickle my skin as I snuggle against him.

"It went well. I think." He says, burying his face in my hair, his hands caressing my back.

"You think?"

"We talked a lot. We made progress, I just hope it's as much as I think it is." In the dark his lips search out mine and he softly possesses me. "Stop talking." he silences me with another kiss as he slides his hands under my shirt.

(TBC...)


	38. My Funny Valentine

Chapter 38: My Funny Valentine

A/N: So here's chapter 38! 39 should be out Wednesday at the latest. Also- I had some formatting issues with this chapter, not exactly sure why. Please let me know if these issues somehow popped up again.

I'd like to thank everyone who is still reading and to thank my new readers for joining us! I have up to chapter 50 written, I'm anticipating 52-53 chapters total. Thanks for all the great feedback.

As always, thanks to Kelly for the beta!

*~*~*

* * *

"So what do you think? Quiet or busy?" I say, buttoning up my shirt and watching as Gil moves to take his turn in the bathroom.

"Depends... I usually find that crime on Valentine's Day is either very violent or nonexistent," he slides past me and smiles. "But Valentine's Day doesn't start until midnight, so this shift is a toss up!"

We're silent for the rest of our dance around the house, the one we've perfected to get us to work in the simplest manner possible. I put the coffee on while he's in the bathroom. He pours it while I do my hair and makeup. We eat, usually something simple that we can make quickly. He gathers his papers while I do the dishes, and then I get my things while he and Emma do their daily catch-up.

The daily catch up can be a sight to see some days. At it's most basic scientific form it's an exchange of information: work is good, the guys miss seeing you now that you are in school. School is good, auditions next week, Lit class is a breeze. Beyond that it's amazing to watch. Emma is exuberant most nights to finally be able to tell someone about her dance classes and academic success. Some nights they'll instinctively start signing, and have often asked me to join in, trying to teach me the language.

It's hard not to wonder how they interacted when Emma was small. Now that she's a woman in her own right, Grissom treats her as more an equal, his fatherly instincts lingering in the background. Has he always regarded her so highly? Was there ever a time when he coddled her? Even now I can see how he dotes on her and often has to force himself to allow her space to be her own person. It's a very interesting side to see of the man that was charged with being unfeeling. More so when I was one of those people accusing him of it.

Even though she's started to return to her former self, I'm still worried about Emma- there's something almost profoundly sad about her, but since she and Griss have talked they've been better. We've even been better. I slip into the bedroom, almost unnoticed, and give them some space. I think that's what we all need right now.

*~*~*

* * *

The Dean is leading me through the halls of the University when I stop short and do a double take.

"Mr. Sanders?" He notices I'm not behind him any more, and returns to where

I stopped dead. He peers through the small window and smiles as I force myself to not let anything show through. "Ahh, I know, it seems out of place to have a dance studio in the gymnasium building when we just finished building a brand new arts building..." He stops and realizes I'm not listening. There's some strain of dark, classical music playing, and from the small window I can see a familiar lone figure moving in the vast space of the studio. Emma's hair billows out wildly behind her as she pushes herself across the floor. Her movements are almost violent. I catch glimpses of her reflection in the mirror, and angry red tear tracks stand out against her pale skin. My hand reaches out to the door of it's own accord, but stops short of reaching it.

"Mr. Sanders?" The Dean is looking at me, a mix of suspicion and confusion on his face.

"I'm sorry Dean Thomas. I know her." I gesture to the studio and clear my throat. "I'll, um, come back after we're done, though." He nods, and I follow him through the hall of the gymnasium to work a B and E of the sports trophy case. Personally, I think it's a waste of everyone's time but it was called in and needs to be investigated.

The Dean leads me away, a sad look on his face. "Faure's Requiem. A very sad piece of music if you're in that sort of mood..." he muses out loud. A few more quiet minutes and he's pointing out the smashed trophy case and handing

me a list of missing items.

She's lying on her back in the middle of the floor when I finally make my way back to the small dance studio. I'm still carrying two bags full of evidence, unwilling to break the chain of custody on my first solo run, even if it is a waste of the taxpayer's time.

"Emma?" I knock and slowly make my way into the silent studio, struck by how cavernous yet homey it feels. She turns her head and wrinkles her brows at me. "Greg?"

"Yeah- had a case..." I shrug and show her the bags in my hand. "Probably frat boys being jerks, but..." I hold out my hand and help her stand up. "It's nearly one AM, what are you still doing here?"

She sighs, running a bare toe over the marley floor. "It felt right. Didn't quite feel like going home yet. The space was open..." Emma shrugged and dropped her head back, her arms spreading a bit and it almost looks like she's drawing strength from the empty space around her. "It's how I cope," she whispers, "Moving, dancing, it's how I move forward." She takes a deep breath, and when she looks back at me, she seems refreshed. "If you give me a minute, I'll walk you to your car."

I laugh, and she smiles. "I think that's supposed to be the guy's line."

"So? I'm not your typical girl."

"Good. Then I'll let you walk me to my car." She moves away, more strength in her shoulders than I've seen for a while, and I can't help but feel a small victory.

* * *

As I walk in the door, Sara and Emma smile at each other evilly, and I know I'm in for trouble. "I'll be out in a minute!" Emma's eyes are wide as she shoves books in her back pack.

"Don't rush on our account," I drop a kiss on the crown of her head as I move into my office to leave my briefcase there for the day. Sara starts banging around in the kitchen, and I'm both excited and nervous for this wonderful Valentine's Day surprise she says she has ready for me.

"I'm not, I'll be late for Western Civ if I don't hurry, anyway." Emma scoots around us, gathering her supplies for the day, and smiles like she's in on the joke. "Besides, I can't get in the way of your Valentine's Day!" Her eyes go wide in realization and she stares at me. "In fact, I want to be as far away as possible..."

Sara laughs and hands Emma a bottle of water. "And what about your Valentine's Day?"

"I told you: rehearsal. The main stage show is only a month away, we still have tons of work to do."

I grab an apple and sit on the side, watching the two women with interest.

"What about Jon?"

Jon? Who is Jon? Why don't I know about Jon?

"What about him?" Sara raises her eyebrows a couple of times, suggesting something I'd rather not think about, but thankfully Emma laughs. "I think Jon's boyfriend might get a little upset if I tried anything."

Emma's the happiest I've seen her in a while this morning, and just as I'm beginning to let myself relax in this happiness, the doorbell rings. "I've got it." I get up and let the two women snicker in the kitchen.

There's a tired looking delivery boy there, holding a white box. "Emma Grissom?"

"Yes?" She pops up behind my shoulder, keys in her hand, ready to leave.

"Sign here please." He thrusts a clipboard at her that she dutifully signs before handing her the box. "Happy Valentine's Day," he throws over his shoulder.

"I thought you said you didn't have a Valentine?" I close the door and stare at her.

"Didn't think I did." She shrugs and heads back into the kitchen and plucks the card from the top of the box. Sara stops what she's doing and blatantly stares.

Emma's eyes widen, sparkling for the first time in months. She tears the top off the box. Inside is a perfect Pink Rosebud, and next to it an envelope which she promptly tears open, revealing a ticket. "No way..." she whispers, a smile nearly splitting her face.

"Well?" I ask, not really caring what it is that's put this spark back in her, but just excited to see it there.

She smiles, waving the ticket around. "Greg mentioned a while back trying to get tickets for this amazing punk show going on this weekend. When he found out that I liked the bands he said he'd try to get me a ticket, too. I didn't think he'd actually be able to do it!" She's nearly jumping up and down now. "I-uh..." She turns in a circle, causing me and Sara to break out in laughter, then she smiles back up at us. "I have to put this in water. I'll um, call him from school. You guys still have... well. Yeah. Don't want to think about that..."

She's a bounding blur as she puts her bud in a vase and tucks the ticket away before speeding out the door. Sara snaps me out of my reverie by waving a hand in front of my face. "What?"

"You're smiling." She smiles back at me. I grab her hands in my own and pull

her body flush with mine.

"So?"

"Do you know how long it's been since I've seen either one of you smile?" She nuzzles her lips into the side of my neck, and I lean into her touch. "Far too long."

"I know."

"C'mon. We're having breakfast in bed." She steps away to pick up a tray of fruit and cheese and stand in the doorway. "Naked!"

I can't keep the interest off my face. "I'll grab some wine and be right there..." She turns and I watch her walk down the hall, as deeply in love and lust with her as ever. The white of the florist's card catches my eye as I reach for the wine glasses, and my mind shouts 'plain sight!' at me. I pick it up and recognize Greg's scrawl immediately.

Sugarcult. Simple Plan. Good Charlotte. You. Me. Lots of Fun. Friday 3pm.

Though there weren't any flowery words or overt gestures on the card, there was some kind of something that I couldn't put my finger on. I wanted to be mad, to be protective and object that it seemed my 21 year old daughter was what

I would consider being courted by my somewhat older employee. But then I remembered the smile on her face, and I couldn't find any more objections.

The card got put back gently on the table, and I grabbed the wine, trying to block out thoughts of my daughter for the moment in favor of allowing the primal, male side of me out to play.


	39. Probability

Chapter 39: Probability

Author's notes: This was originally set to be a Companion, but the more I wrote, the more I realized that the direction I want to take this story would not make sense without this, and the point of the companions is that you can read them or not, without effecting the main story line. This IS main story line. Little to no GS here. Sorry. More GS on the way after this tiny plot point.

Also, this is the last chapter that I have already beta'd. I'd like to thank Kelly again for agreeing to do the beta on the rest of this beast. Updates will come more erratically now- but possibly faster, as well.

Again, I was having some mysterious formatting problems. Let me know if they resurface!

AN2: For anyone who is saying, "wow- that seems familiar!" You may want to refer back to chapter 22. Wow, continuity!!!

*~~*

* * *

I won't look at her again. I just won't.

I'm just going to pay attention to this lovely Internet tutorial on Luminol and pray that Grissom will take me out in the field soon.

I will not look at Emma. I will not. Even though she's only a few feet away, typing on her laptop.

Back to the Luminol… Oh who am I kidding? Only myself! So I stare openly and blatantly. I don't know what it is, but I can't get her off of my mind.

It makes me feel a bit perverted; she's quite a bit younger than me, not to mention Grissom's daughter, and mostly likely not even interested in me.

She has her hair pulled back in some kind of messy thing on her head. It looks good on her, everything looks good on her.

Dude, get a hold of yourself, back to the Luminol. See? I should be taking notes on these chemical compound interactions. Write this down! Two scrawled sentences later I look up as she snaps her laptop shut and Sara enters the room.

"Hey guys." Sara says as she sits on the couch across from Emma.

"Hey," I choke out, hoping it sounds normal, going back to my tutorial as quickly as I can.

"Hey Sara, what's up?" Emma replies. I will not eves drop, I will not eves drop, I will not listen in too closely… I will not stop pretending to pay attention to my computer. Look at the screen, write something down. Look at the screen, write something down.

"Last minute briefing with the Sheriff; Griss and I need to cancel breakfast."

"Not a problem."

"Dinner tonight?"

"Can't. Got a date."

"A date? Did you tell Grissom?"

"He knows I'm going out with Ryan. I don't know that I explicitly mentioned it was a date."

It's hard not to blatantly stare, but my hand's already stilled and my eyes flash back and forth between the two. This is *so* not my business

"He'll want to know."

"I know. And if it's anything important, I will tell him. It's just a date, not an engagement. I didn't want Dad running off and putting the poor kid through AFIS just to have dinner with me."

"Good point." I can tell that Sara's deliberately not looking at me. Emma just doesn't seem to notice I'm listening. Obviously a sign that she's just not interested in me.

"I guess I'll run then. Gonna hit the library for a while. Mid-terms are not going to be fun next week." I lift my head then, trying to pretend that I wasn't listening. "Bye guys."

I wave with the hand that still holds my pen. "Bye." Oh yeah. That was weak. I watch her walk away until she's long gone, brought back to reality by Sara clearing her throat as she looks over my shoulder. "Hey Sar."

"Distracted?" She asks with a smile on her face. I've been caught.

"No, not really. Just completing the required tutorial on Luminol and it's uses."

"Really? Because, I mean, it's been a while since I did that, but I'm pretty sure that the notes 'something something something no no not a date something ' aren't going to be helpful when you hit the test at the end."

She drops a hand on my shoulder, and though I am sure she intended for it to be reassuring, it wasn't. It only makes me feel a little more like I don't belong and I'm messing up. She smiles, and whispers "Don't give up, Greg."

I watch her walk away like this was just some pivotal turning point in a movie.

*~*~*

* * *

Three days later, it's Friday at three pm. It shouldn't be so scary getting out of my car, shouldn't be so intimidating walking up to Grissom's (and Sara's and Emma's, I remind myself) front door.

But it is.

I ring the doorbell and fidget. I tried to dress somewhat respectably: jeans and a short sleeve Green Day shirt over a long sleeved white shirt, hair spiked and enough deodorant and cologne that hopefully it doesn't seem like I'm trying too hard.

I'm not trying, dammit!

"Hey!" Emma answers the door, bouncing with energy. I can't help but smile back at her. "Come in, I just have to get my cell and wallet."

I follow her in, my eyes trying to keep it PG as I take in what she's wearing. I am so gonna be in trouble, not only keeping myself in line, but keeping the rest of the male population at the concert off of her. She's wearing black, low rise hip hugging UFO pants and a pink and black striped tank top, her hair pulled up into two messy buns at the crown of her head, and a little more make-up than I'm used to seeing on her. I walk in further, smiling, and watch as she disappears into her room, meeting up with Grissom as he walks from the kitchen to the couch.

"Hey Greg," Grissom's manner seems more relaxed, more gentle almost, than

I've seen on him in a long time.

"Hey Griss." I will not act like a stupid kid taking his daughter on a date. I will not. I'm a man! I desperately try to remind myself.

"Greg?" Grissom's standing in front of me, and I realize that I didn't even notice him getting up. "You ok?"

"Oh yeah, just thinking about parking and stuff." Riiight. Good cover.

"Of course." Grissom sits back down, picking up a crossword puzzle and perching his glasses on his nose. He looks so much more fatherly, so much more "Leave it to Beaver" than I'm used to. "I don't need to remind you that she's my *only daughter,* do I, Greg?"

He's staring at me. Somehow he's more relaxed than I've ever seen him, and yet scarier, too. "Not at all. I'll even make sure she calls you when we get in." He stares. What did I? Oh NO.."When we get home… um, when I drop her off at home, that is."

I could swear Grissom was almost smiling at my discomfort, but Emma practically bounced out of her room, kissed Grissom on the cheek, and pulled me out the front door before I could think anymore about it.

*~*~*

* * *

"Seven dollar beer, or four dollar water?" Emma asks me as we stare at the concession stand's outrageous prices. We sat through three opening bands so far, nothing horrible, but nothing great. It's starting to get dark, which means we need a dinner break before the headliners take the stage at the outdoor arena.

"That depends on if you want to remember spending an arm and a leg or not." She smiles and winks at me. She's already bought and wearing a concert shirt that lists all the bands and the tour cities. Not only did it help me focus once she covered her cleavage, but then I didn't need to worry about everyone else looking at her as much, either. "But mathematically, you're best bet is the four dollar water and hot dog. Saves more money for later when we'll want the ice cream cones!"

She throws an arm around my waist as she moves us in line, "I love the way you think, Greg." With a smile, I tug on one of the buns on her head, and she smiles back.

I'm not flirting. I'm really not. Absolutely not! Even though it's easy and fun and I feel so good about it... It wasn't flirting when I made fun of her singing in the car then proceeded to listen to her belt out the entire Sugarcult album while we sat in traffic. It wasn't flirting when I commented on how she should have brought some sunscreen to protect her cleavage. It absolutely was NOT anything at all when I pulled her flush to me and pretended to kiss up and down her neck so that the brawny drunk guy who was staring at her would leave us alone. And he did, so it was absolutely nothing.

Even though I think we both enjoyed it.

It was NOTHING!

Four dollar waters and four dollar hot dogs in hand, we took a seat to the side of the stand on the ground, the sun setting behind her and the last opening band playing in the background.

"God, I hope emo isn't getting popular. I just can't take the whining!" Emma's comments have been right on all afternoon. Our tastes mesh so well, and I've had more grown up conversations with her about music then with anyone I can recall.

I choke down some water, grimacing at the fact that it's warm, and continue to grimace at the grating music coming from the stage. The words tumble out before I can help myself. "So how was your date the other night?"

She makes her own face after tasting the warm bottled water, and clears her throat before responding. "Uh, not so good. All Ryan did all night was talk about how much he missed his ex-girlfriend."

She looked a bit sad, and that was absolutely not allowed today. Think, Greg Just because it's a tiny victory in my world doesn't mean it's a good thing for her. "His loss. I bet he's emo,anyway."

She laughed a little, and then a lot, and somehow I think I shouldn't feel as relieved as I do.

*~*~*

* * *

"Oh, that was so amazing!" Emma's bouncing up and down, yelling over the din of people as we sit back down in our seats. They're not the best seats, but they're not the worst, either: only a few rows from the back of the outdoor venue's seating, but still way in front of the grass seats, and faaar away from the mosh pit. She goes no where near the mosh pit.

"It really was. I love when they sound good live." Her face is alive in a way that I don't think I've seen yet in her, her body bounding with energy in a different way then when I saw her alone in the dance studio. She seems so alive, so carefree, and I want to keep her like that always. Everyone's settling down around us as the lights come up for the fifteen minutes it will take for the roadies to reset the stage from Sugarcult to Simple Plan.

"I'll be right back, I want to hit the ladies room when the line won't be too long." She stands and smiles. "And stop looking like that. You can see the line and the ladies room from here." She points to the small building which unusually doesn't sport a line and then leans down over me. "I'm a big girl, Greg."

Watching her walk away, I don't know whether to thank God she's said that or to feel like I'm in a lot of trouble. Somehow, it's both. I shout to her as she climbs over the couple next to us and out into the aisle, "Your Dad will kill me if I lose you!" She just smiles back in a way that knocks the wind right out of me. The couple next to me laughs.

*~*~*

* * *

She's bouncing again, keeping rhythm back and forth as we sing along with Simple Plan, the entire audience moving to the driving guitar. The aisles are filling up, pushing and compacting the rows, and before I know it, she's in front of me, my hands on her hips to keep us from falling over one another. There's only a second before we fall back into the rhythm of the concert and the music, moving as one person now.

The guitar riffs slow as they change songs and before I know it my arms are wrapped around her waist, holding her to me. At this point I'm not even trying to pretend that it's for any other reason than I want to.

The guitar riffs slow again as their hit ballad starts, and I'm less concerned with the fact that we're somehow still losing space then the fact that Emma's stiffened in my arms. Her shoulders are pulled up to her ears and she's stopped moving as the lyrics start. I drop my head to her ear, but I can't really see her face, her eyes, from where I am. "Emma?" She doesn't respond, and I try to turn her in my arms as the chorus starts.

The second my hands come off her she darts away from me, pushing past the couple at the end of the row and past the people with grass seats who have crept into the aisles. It takes only a heartbeat for me to follow, more distance than I'd like between us because of drunk and high concert goers that keep blocking me from following her towards the empty concourse that leads to the box office.

"Emma?" I shout. She doesn't turn, but stops when she's cleared the mass of people I'm still struggling through. "Emma?" I jog to her, spinning her in my arms, mind racing as to if I've done something, if someone near us did something, what could possibly have made her dart away so fast. She's hyperventilating, eyes filling with tears. "What's wrong?"

I'm holding her an arm's length away, her hands twisting in front of her as tears start to drip from her eyes, "This song."

I follow her gaze to the stage and listen to the lyrics for a second. '_Cause we lost it all, nothing lasts for ever, I'm sorry I can't be perfect.'_ I turn back at her, taking her chin in my hands, still frightened at her reaction.

"It's not their best song, but it's certainly nothing to cry over!" I try, smiling at her.

She barks out a laugh, then two, but then quickly dissolves into hysterical crying. She falls into my chest, grabbing at me as if I can save her from whatever is causing her so much pain. I wish I could. I wish I knew what it was.

_And now I try hard to make it_

_I just want to make you proud_

_I'm never gonna be good_

_Enough for you_

_I can't stand another fight_

_And nothing's alright_

She whimpers a few words through her cries and I finally understand, listening to the song that I've heard hundreds of times in a new way. The death of her mother and step-father are still so new, so fresh to her. It is so easy to see now how this song just poured salt onto those still-raw wounds.

I pull her tighter to me. "Shh. It's ok. It's ok." She nods against my chest, still pulling me as close to her as possible, though her crying is slowing down and she's finally taking deeper breaths. The song ends to loud cheers and the band moves on to the next one. We're on to yet another song when she finally calms down and we both can relax our hold. It still doesn't seem right to let her go, to not hold her when she was just so vulnerable.

She turns away from me and wipes at her eyes, trying to hide her tears and fix her smudged make up. "Come here" I turn her to me, and gently brush the tears from cheeks. Her eyes fall, almost afraid to look at me. "How about we go get some of that severely expensive ice cream and wait for Good Charlotte?"

She finally looks up and nods, "Yeah, good idea."

"I don't think we'd make it back to our seats, anyway." I point to where our seats are, security guards now wading through the throngs of people who shouldn't be blocking the aisles and trying to get them all back to where they belong. She takes my arm that I hold out for her and I lead her around the crowd to the concession stand.

"I'm sorry Greg," She almost whispers as we walk. The only reason I can hear her is because I am listening for her, not the music.

"Don't be sorry." I stop and hug her for a second, relishing the feel of her in my arms before I take her hand and pull her behind me toward the ice cream stand. "Come on."

*~*~*

* * *

She's sleeping when I pull up in front of her house, her eyes a little puffier in the streetlight than I initially thought from her crying jag. She'd relaxed after a cup of soft serve chocolate with extra rainbow sprinkles, and we'd joked, pointing and laughing at the antics of the drunk concert goers.

It would be so easy to think of tonight as a date. In fact, it would probably rank right up there as one of the best dates I've ever had. But it's not a date. Lit by the bright streetlamp in front of her house, she looks impossibly young and nothing like the women I've ever found myself dating.

I refuse to continue this line of thinking. Bad Greg, bad!

"Emma?" I nearly whisper, because I really don't want to wake her up. But I have to. "Hey," I reach out my hand and lay it gently on her shoulder, shaking it a bit. "We're here."

She blinks a few times, sniffs, and smiles at me. "Sorry I fell asleep."

"No biggie. You're actually used to sleeping at this time of night. I'm up gallivanting around the city, fighting crime!" She laughs and reaches into the glove compartment, pulling out her keys that she left there while we were at the show. She smiles at me, and I can't help but smile back. Neither of us moves, and even in the silence it's not uncomfortable. I move first, getting out of the car and rounding it quickly to open her door with a wide sweep of my arm. "M' Lady."

"So gallant!" Emma steps out of the car, taking my hand and pulling me up to her door. "Thanks, Greg."

"Ah, you're welcome! I had an awesome time." I shove my hands in my pockets, hoping that she thinks that I really am as relaxed as I am acting. "I never would have had that much fun with any of my buddies."

She laughs and leans against the door, a self conscious smirk on her face. "They probably wouldn't have cried all over you, either." She drops her gaze from me and I simply won't allow it.

My hand shoots out and I lift her chin with my index finger, leaving it there longer than I need to just to feel how soft her skin is. "Hey," her eyes meet mine, and there's a quiet moment where I hope she knows all I am trying to say. When I think she does, I change my tactics with a sly smile. "You get my friend Johnny drunk enough and he'll cry like a baby."

She laughs again, and I feel like I've won a small war. "Good to know." She steps forward and drops a peck of a kiss on my cheek. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to panic. She steps back and I can see the blush rising in her cheeks, a bright pink creeping up her neck as she bites her lower lip. She clears her throat and smiles up nervously at me. It strikes me that I should find it comical, inexperienced, silly and high-schoolish even. But I don't. Her innocence and shyness are endearing at that moment, and all I can do is smile at her.

She fumbles with her keys for a second, the red enamel of her ladybug key chain shining in the porch light. It reminds me like a slap in the face who she is, and I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets. She takes a deep breath before she turns the key in the lock, and I wonder if she feels it, too.

"Goodnight, Greg."

"Goodnight, Emma."

She slips away into the dark house and I'm left alone on the porch. Pulling my own keys out of my pocket, I fidget with them, waiting to hear the click of the deadbolt. I'm halfway back to my car when I do a one eighty and head back to knock on her door. I see the top of her head peak out of the window next to the door before she throws open the deadbolt and leans out. Her hair is undone and falling in messy clumps around her face, the concert tee gone leaving only her tiny striped tank top and pants, one bare foot poking out of the door. Wow, that was fast.

"Forget something?" I can't quite place her expression. It's almost expectant, and hopeful, but tired and sweet, as well. Her eyes seem impossibly big and blue in the moonlight.

I smile, remembering the reason I came back. "Just wanted to remind you to call your Dad and let him know that I let you no where near the mosh pit."

Hearing her laughter was a great way to end the night.


	40. The Dances We Do

**A/N- I'm sorry for the delay- blame the holidays! We're back to our regularly scheduled updates- about one every five days. I'm still writing the last few chapters- but I want to make sure they're perfect! Thanks a MILLION to Kelly- my beta, Ash- my cheerleader, and Batts- who has been prodding me to finish.**

**Also- I'm flattered that so many have added my story to their favorites and alerts, but if you're going to do so, please take a minute to drop me a review and let me know what you like/dislike about the story. Reviews help me grow as a writer and make sure that everyone gets the most out of this story!**

**THANKS! Enjoy…

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**Chapter 40: The Dances We Do**

_You know, Ms. Willows, I don't know what that young woman said to Lindsey, but her attitude about class and her technique while she's dancing have just completely improved! Lindsey was a wonderful student before, don't get me wrong, but she's simply one of my hardest working now, she's progressing so quickly!_

It's hard not to hear Lindsey's dance teacher's high-pitched voice screeching in my head over and over again since she pulled me aside after class yesterday. Apparently Lindsey's been excelling in class, and when asked why, she just _had_ to cite Emma, the effervescent darling of the night shift.

I really have to figure out a way to stop being bitter. I rub my tired eyes and stare at the computer monitor in front of me, waiting for the new search to spit out its results.

_I know it's a lot to ask, but one of my teachers is going to be out on maternity leave most of next year and if she's as good as Lindsey says she is… Well, could you just give her my card and tell her to call me? I could really use another teacher on staff anyway. _

It's hard not to fiddle with the card in my pocket. I know she'll be here shortly. Emma and Grissom have a standing breakfast date on Friday's, and she hasn't missed one yet unless we've been out in the field. I just have to pull her aside and hand her the card.

I'm still waiting at the computer in the lab when I see her walk by, headed for Grissom's office. I force myself to stand and trot after her. "Emma!"

She turns and smiles, "Hi Catherine."

"Can I, uh, talk to you a second?" I gesture nervously with my hands. This really shouldn't be so hard. I'm ages older than her I remind myself, and call forward my 'mom' façade. "I'm in the computer lab, if you don't mind."

She looks back toward Grissom's office, at her watch, and smiles politely, though a little unsure of herself. "Sure." She follows me in where I sit down. Yes, sitting is a deliberate power play. "Is there, um, something wrong?"

I make her wait a second as I fiddle with the computer, checking a few of the search windows that really didn't need checking at all, just because I can. "Oh, no, no. Everything's fine." I turn to her, shove my hand in my pocket, and pull out the card. "Miss Angela, Lindsey's dance teacher, asked if you could call her. Lindsey apparently mentioned that you'd helped her during class and Miss Angela is looking for someone to substitute teach for one of her staff for a while." I hand over the card crisply, eyeing her like I would any suspect. It just can't be that she's so perfect. It really can't be.

"Wow, um, thank you. I'll call her right away. This afternoon even." Emma turned, took two steps, and I felt a brief victory before she turned back. "I don't know exactly what I did, or what I'm doing, to cause you to not like me." She addressed me plainly, and though I pretended to be confused, she is as perceptive as her father at times. "No, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Please don't treat me like I'm a child." I said nothing, and she sighed. "Alright, if you ever have something you want to talk to me about, you know where to find me. Thanks for this." She holds up the card for a second before walking away, her hands fidgeting around the small rectangle of paper.

She just made it so much harder to hate her.

* * *

Sara's sitting at the counter when I come in from breakfast with Emma even though she should be in bed. It is late morning, later than I usually come back from breakfast with Emma, but her first class was canceled because her professor was sick so we took advantage of the extra time to talk. "Why are you still awake?" The question's crisper than I meant it, and she raises her eyebrows at me as she puts down the journal she's reading.

"Hello, cranky." She walks over with a smile as she says it, the tone of the question already forgiven. Her hands glide over my shoulders as she strips me of my navy CSI windbreaker, forcing me to drop my briefcase to the floor as she pulls the jacket from me. "Thought I should wait up." Her kiss is slow and languid in a way that I feel like we haven't been for a long time. Her body relaxes into mine, heavy with the promise of sleep looming as she burrows her head into the nook between my neck and shoulder.

My hands wander the warm expanse of her back, her presence relaxing me almost instantly. "Thanks."

She starts to back up in tiny steps, leading me towards the bedroom without allowing a single inch of space between our bodies. "We have tomorrow night off," she purrs, reminding me of a cat cuddled up to its owner all the more as she tried to burrow deeper into me.

"I know…" I grab the doorframe to the bedroom, leaning forward so that she tips back enough for me to kiss her lips. I'm almost rough with her: I'm demanding, needing, wanting her after she put on that display.

Our lips are the last things to part as she steps back, draping her body across the bed in a most inviting way. "Let's not get out of bed until we have to…" she whispers gently, a smile spreading across her face.

My fingers peal from the doorframe with each deliberate step forward I take, dropping to my sides before catching my weight as I climb onto the bed and drape myself over her body. "Good plan."

* * *

"Gil, we're going to be late."

"I'll be just another second, Sara. You were the one who demanded we spend more time in bed, you know." He leans around the doorframe, eyebrow raised as he finishes trying his tie. "Grab the flowers, will you?"

I nod, smiling, as he disappears again. I pull Emma's bouquet of white roses from the vase Grissom's put them in and can't help but take a glance at the single blood red rosebud that he'd woken me up with this afternoon. The feel of the velvety petals running across my lips and cheeks is not something I'm likely to forget, nor is the look on his face as I woke to him.

My fingertips run across the swell of the bud unbidden as I pass it in its vase on my way to pick up my purse.

"You look gorgeous." Grissom whispers as he moves behind me.

"Oh, this old thing?" I smile at the cliché as he holds me closer. Truth is the black cocktail dress actually is fairly old, bought on a whim but never worn until now. "You're not so bad yourself."

He drops a small kiss on my shoulder before taking my hand and pulling me towards the door. "Come on, we can't be late."

* * *

"Sara, you have the tickets, right?" I'm not accustomed to feeling this nervous for something that's become so common in my life: another year, another of Emma's dance recitals. But then again, this one is special. This is a college concert where she's worked with specially commissioned artists. She's been working so hard for so long. For the first time I'm privy to the pain, sweat, and dedication that she's put into the pieces for this three night performance. I'm so nervous you'd think that I was the one performing.

"They're in my purse, right where they were when we were in the car, right where they were when we were in the parking lot and in the same place now that we're in the lobby." She smiles at me and grasps my free hand, the cellophane of the bouquet crinkling in the other. "Please try to relax and have fun." She slips her hand into the outer pocket of her purse and pulls out two tickets, which she promptly hands the usher as we pass into the auditorium from the lobby.

There are four pieces in the first act and three in the second, Emma being in one number in each act. Just as we settle in, something, or someone rather, catches my eye. Before I can turn to see who it is, they disappear up the stairs to the balcony. The lights dim, and the curtain rises.

* * *

Everyone's hanging around the lobby as the show gets out, waiting for the performers to make their grand entrance after the show. The bulk of the giggly friends and proud families have gathered around the double doors on the far right of the lobby that leads to the backstage dressing rooms. I've chosen to hang towards the back, waiting patiently, flowers in hand.

The view from the balcony had been a good one, especially considering I was lucky to get one of the last few seats to the sold-out show. I'd never really been interested in dance before but I was truly astounded at the skill that was displayed tonight.

"Greg?" Sara's voice makes me jump and I nearly drop the small bunch of flowers in my hands. I turn and meet her smiling face.

"Sara… Grissom. I guess this isn't really a surprise." Not really, considering he is her father and Sara wouldn't miss out on something so important to Emma. My gaze sweeps nervously between the small group of flowers in my hand and the dozen white roses that Grissom carries. I guess if I'm going to be upstaged Grissom should be the one to do it.

"I am a little surprised to see you here," Grissom says, tipping his head to the side.

"Well, Emma told me all about the show, and I figured I'd surprise her and come seeing as she probably didn't have a ton of friends or family or anything here to come see her…" Grissom's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and I'm stuttering like a fool. "Not that you guys aren't enough, you know. But I just thought…"

It's rare to see Grissom smile, but he smiles at me now. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you, Greg." He looks down at the flowers in my hand. "Tulips?"

Before I can respond we both turn towards the double doors. Cheers have erupted. The cast, still with their hair done and make-up on, was pouring out of the doors, the girls falling into hugs with awaiting friends and family. Emma was at the end of the stream of people, looking around cautiously with wide eyes, slowly navigating her way through the crush of people smiling and taking pictures. Finally she sees us, and smiles. I smile back.

* * *

I see her spot us and wonder if Greg and Grissom know that they broke out in silly grins at the same time. Even I have to admit that she's a wonderful person. We've become a lot closer, and I'm proud to be a part of the only family she has left. Dance was never exactly my thing: I've always enjoyed a lecture more than a ballet, but watching her onstage, and watching Grissom watching her, was something I was happy to experience.

She slowly made her way to the edge of the crowd then trotted over to us, her smile blinding. "Dad! Sara!" And if it was possible, her eyes lit up even more. "Greg! I didn't know you were coming!"

They stare at each other for a second, and he shrugs, looking only slightly less than smooth holding the flowers tightly with both hands. "I thought I'd surprise you." I try to look away, not really wanting to intrude; the moment has such an honest quality to it. Looking around the small lobby, it's easy to see why Greg had stumbled around his reason for coming: all over the girls were being congratulated by large groups, the girls hopping back and forth between groups, dancers being crushed by fellow students eager with praise. I was hard pressed to find anther girl with an entourage of only three, and I knew for a fact that the small group of friends Emma had forged in her time here had fallen apart over the petty issues that normally befall those in college. It never struck me until now that even though she never seemed upset about it, she had to feel the effects of a dwindling group of friends while she was still relatively new here.

That Greg picked up on it, and did something about it, impresses me even if most of his motivation was purely selfish. "These, uh, these are for you." He thrusts the small bouquet of red tulips at her, the stems tied with a matching ribbon, no cellophane wrapping to crinkle as she takes them. "You were wonderful…"

"Thank you." Her words are soft, a blush budding in her cheeks. Grissom's been watching the exchange with a blank expression, but the small lines around his eyes tell me that he's intently studying, thinking, trying to figure out what, exactly, is going on.

It only takes Emma a second to turn and latch herself onto Grissom. He returns the hug fiercely, and whispers a few words in her ear. She smiles and hugs him harder. Greg and I watch the exchange between the two, and I can't help but feel envious. The relationship they share is so tight, so wonderful- I can't even fathom what my life might have been if I'd had a relationship like that with my father.

"These are from me and Sara." Grissom hands her the armful of roses and she smiles. "Thank you!" After dropping a kiss on his cheek, she turns to me. "Thank you for coming, Sara." Her one-armed hug is fierce, and I can't help but return it. "I know it's not your thing. And thanks for the flowers."

"You're welcome. You were great!" She blushes again. I think we're making her nervous.

Grissom clears his throat. "Ready to head out?" He's made us reservations for a late dinner. Though Emma's adverse to all the praise of a job well done, she apparently loves to hear what her father's thoughts are on the show, and there's apparently philosophical discussion dead ahead, or so they've done in the past.

"I just need to go grab my bag out of the dressing room." She looks down at the flowers in her hands. Our bouquet dwarfs Greg's. We all seem to notice it at the same time. "Greg, do you want to come? We're just going to get some dinner?"

"Nah- I wouldn't want to intrude. You guys go ahead. Besides," He says, faking a smile as he pats his belly, "I'm watching my girlish figure."

"Ok then." Emma steps closer to him and gives him a one-armed hug, trying to avoid crushing her flowers. He returns it, a bit awkwardly, and tries in vain to not glance at Grissom when they separate. "Thanks for coming, Greg."

"Anytime," he smiles and stuffs his hands in his pockets, uncharacteristically nervous. "Grissom, Sara," He says as he nods his goodbyes to us and quietly turns away to disappear into the throng. Emma's eyes follow him until he's lost in the crowd.

"I'll be right back, ok?" she says after a moment. Grissom nods and watches her as she slips back to the double doors, virtually unnoticed.

His gaze stays riveted on the doors, and finally I can't take it anymore. "What are you thinking?" I ask quietly, taking his hand.

"Those were red tulips."

"They were really pretty. And it was really great of him to come out." It's odd that he's fixated on the flowers instead of their awkward moments or the implied fact that they talk often, possibly even sharing things that Emma won't share with Grissom. I wait patiently through a few silent moments, knowing that an explanation is forthcoming.

"The roses were white." And now I'm still confused, and still waiting. "Every flower has a meaning. White roses symbolize innocence and purity, among other things." He turns and looks at me. "Do you think he knew what the tulips were?"

"Greg?" He laces his fingers in mine while I think. "He might. You never really know what Greg knows- sometimes his base of knowledge is surprising." Emma reemerges from the double doors and again goes unnoticed by those around her as she heads for us. "Why, what do red tulips mean?"

Grissom's eyes track his daughter, and for once I can't read what he's thinking. "They're a declaration of love."

(TBC…)

**_A/N 2- All flowers do have meanings, though they often have several meanings. Yes, I picked those that suited my needs the best. Since all research was done on the 'net there is some margin of error. My source: www(dot)800florals(dot)com(slash)care(slash)meaning(dot)asp_**


	41. Insecurities

_A/N- Thank you to everyone that's been cheering me on... Ash, Claire, Michael, Kelly (My fabulous beta!),everyone that's sent a review, and a special thanks to Peggiegg who sent a wonderful review that made me smile! In response to her curiosity about them asking Greg to go to dinner with them... You're right! This is Greg from a few years ago (which is even hard for ME to keep straight!) There's still a bit of a disconnect between Greg and Grissom/Sara... but not necessarily Greg and Emma! ;) Keeping in character with the characters I've started with from a few years ago has been part of the truggle of finishing this... but as you see, it's well on it's way. _

_Thanks again to everyone for their support! _

* * *

**Chapter 41: Insecurities**

"Emma?" I open the front door, knowing she's home, but not used to my daughter not answering my call. Bailey bounds up to me, and I spend a minute placating the dog with some well-placed scratches behind the ears. "Sweetheart, you have mail." I drop the mail on the table and walk into the kitchen, Bailey in tow, briefcase finding a place on the table for the time being. It's already late morning, and while Sara is at a scene, Emma should be wide-awake and ready to head out to class in a few minutes.

"Emma?" That's three calls with no answer. Bailey tilts his head at me, and then trots down the hall and through the crack in Emma's door. The house is eerily quiet and I try not to panic. I knock twice without answer then push through the door.

Emma's sitting at her desk, her back to me, and I can see a textbook open on her desk, pen in one hand while her other hand occupies itself by twisting around a lock of hair. Bailey is at the foot of her bed, head resting on his paws as he watches me. My heart skips a beat. It's deathly quiet. She's ok, it seems, except she hasn't heard me.

"Emma?" I say again though my voice is not as loud as I'd like it to be, emotion choking me up. All I can think of is a scene from my childhood before I knew my mother was deaf: she was standing at the stove in the kitchen, and I was calling her name, but she couldn't hear me, didn't hear me.

I flip the lights on and off a few times, reminiscent of when Emma would do the same to me when she first moved in. She looks up then turns. In the second it takes for her eyes to widen and her hands to come up to her face, my heart skips a beat: she didn't hear me.

When she pulls the small ear buds out, the rock music loud enough that I can hear it across the room, and coils them up on her iPod, I don't know if I should laugh or cry. "Hey Dad, what's up?"

My mouth works for a second with nothing coming out. I stop and try to order my thoughts. I don't think she has any clue about how scared I was. "You didn't answer me."

"Sorry. I was trying to reorganize some of my notes and it was just too quiet in here. My iPod was handy so…" She shrugs and trails off. She looks into my eyes, and she knows that I was worried. "What's wrong? I mean I…" And she's so much more perceptive than she looks sometimes. "Dad- my hearing's fine. We get it checked all the time."

She stands and steps toward me, smiling. I move in the room and shrug as well, my hands flopping uselessly at my sides. "I know. It's my job to worry, though." She hugs me, and it all seems all right for now. "And your hearing won't be alright for long if you keep playing your music that loudly."

She smiles and backs out of my embrace, the smile plastered on her face enough to make my anger and fear melt away. "Time for class. Just one more week, then finals, and I'll be free for the summer!"

She stuffs her book in her bag, drops a kiss on my cheek, and detours to get a sloppy kiss from Bailey before she almost bounces out the door. Bailey trots up next to me; the young dog is so deeply devoted to my daughter that he whimpers as she leaves. "She'll be back." It strikes me funny to be reassuring the dog, but I abandon that to look around her room while I try to make sense of the fluttering still deep in my chest: crisis for me, nothing for her.

My gaze lingers over the surfaces as the feeling abates. It's really not snooping, more observing. It's clean, but not exactly neat. The bed is unmade and the butterfly fold out chair in the corner is piled high with folded laundry that has yet to be put away. Her desk is cluttered and CDs are littered across the small table she has set up with a boom box and her iPod hook up. It's not all fluffy and pink, but the Lavender walls and lightwood make it distinctly feminine.

Sara's hand on my shoulder startles me enough so that I jump.

"Sorry. I thought you heard me come in." She steps beside me, taking the spot that Bailey apparently vacated earlier while I was daydreaming. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing really," I don't mention my fears or the short interaction between my daughter and myself. Sara will only try to assuage my fears in the same ways that Emma has. My own neuroses don't need to be voiced right now.

"So…"

"Yes?"

"Three weeks still good for you?" I catch out of the corner of my eye the glint of her hand playing with the engagement ring that she usually hides or leaves home.

"Absolutely."

She turns her head, looking at me. "You're distracted."

"I know."

"Why?" Her hand moves gently over my shoulders, not really massaging, but still releasing stress.

My eye catches on a framed print over her desk: Winnie the Pooh. I can still remember the first time I hung that picture. It nearly overwhelms me with emotion. I have to clear my throat before I can talk. "She's growing up."

"She is. She's an amazing person, Gil. You should be proud." She lets her hand drop from my shoulder, skimming down my waist to catch in my hand, her head resting on my shoulder and sharing the moment with me.

"I am."

"I sense there's more to this."

"I just got her back, and yet, I feel like she's ready to leave me. I feel like, maybe she doesn't need me anymore." I turn, finally looking at my fiancé, and we lock eyes for what seems like forever as she carefully thinks about her response.

"Emma will always need you, as much and if not more than any other girl would always need her father. You two have a bond that I know I'm jealous of; that Catherine's jealous of… it's made her who she is, and who you are. You two have already come through a lot together, and you'll go through more." She stops and steps away to face me, looking completely serious and sincere. "Do you feel like you're abandoning her because we're getting married?"

"No. I…I don't think I do." My sigh is heavy and full of all the things I don't know how to say. "I think I'm more worried about her forgetting about me. Growing up, getting a job, getting married, and moving past the time when she'll kiss me goodbye before school and-"

"Stop right there." Sara's interruption was forceful, her hand grasping my chin and forcing me to look at her. "I think that's all the stupidest bunch of logic I've ever heard from you. Not that your fears aren't real. I get that, I do. But do you really think that after a lifetime of wishing she was with you, she'd just up and leave? That she'd forget about you?" She dropped her hand to my shoulder, a smile on her face now. "She might move, she might get married- hell, I'm convinced that she and Greg are-"

"She and Greg are what?"

"Not the point." Sara smiled her nervousness away. "The point is if you really think about it, you'll realize that you're being emotional, not logical. Think for a minute. You're good at thinking. You'll make yourself feel better if you just think about this."

She's right. She always is. I've saved thinking for work, feeling for Emma and Sara. Emma might eventually leave, but she'd never leave me. Winnie the Pooh on the wall of a twenty one year old tells me so. "You're right." I smile and kiss her softly. "You always are."

Sara shrugs. "Not always." The hand from my shoulder makes a soothing path up my neck and over the side of my face to rest on my cheek. "You think some more, I'll take Bailey out, and when I get back we'll get some sleep." She walks away leaving me in the doorway to my daughter's room. Symbolic? Maybe. At the moment all I can feel is contentment and it doesn't take a CSI to figure out why.

* * *

*~*~*

It's not unusual to see my soon to be stepdaughter in the CSI break room obscenely early on Friday mornings. Emma and Gil have a standing breakfast date and I'm happy to step aside for a few hours every week if it means that I get to see them both happy. We've become closer than I ever really thought we'd be; more like close friends than anything.

Usually she'd arrive only a few minutes before the end of shift, allowed in by her self only because she has charmed everyone at the lab she comes in contact with, amazingly including Ecklie. It's still about two hours before the end of shift, however, and I know for a fact that her father's still out in the field. It's only when I walk into the break room that I can see she has a notebook lying in her jean clad lap and across the room at the table sits Greg, popping a potato chip in his mouth.

"Hey guys."

"Hey Sara," Greg smiles up at me as I make my way around to the refrigerator before turning his attention back to Emma. "I'm still waiting."

"I know…" Emma skims the paper in front of her and looks back at Greg looking positively nervous. "The electron transport chain occurs in the membrane of the mitochondrion."

"And?" Greg prompts, tossing another chip in his mouth.

"And…Chlorophyll!" Greg and I both raised an eyebrow at her. "I mean chloroplasts." She sighs and I sit next to her. Gil and I have both been helping her study for her biology final. Her professor was not one of the best, at least not for her preferred hands on style of learning. He'd lectured about the latest advancements in research, canceled class often, and ignored their required textbook completely, then handed out a review outline for their final exam that detailed how the exam would be straight from the book he'd never touched or even mentioned the entire semester.

"How's it going?" I ask.

"Not well if I'm mixing up chlorophyll and chloroplasts." She doodles in the margin of her notebook. I don't think I've ever seen anyone study so hard. She's determined to ace this test regardless of the Professor's shortcomings.

Greg wads up his empty chip bag and drops it in the garbage as he heads over to the couch we're both on, sitting on Emma's other side. "You're doing better than you think, especially since you actually only started last week."

"And I only have four more days." She rubs her eyes tiredly.

Greg smiles and pulls her toward him with a playful tug. "Well, considering that you've employed not only two of the smartest criminalists around, but also the local DNA genius to help you out, you're sure to know more than anyone in your class."

She smiles and rests in the crook of his arm, looking very comfortable. I've decided that I like the idea of these two, no matter what. "Thanks. I know." She sighs deeply. "Last night I dreamed that Gregor Mendel was chasing me through a garden of giant peas screaming at me to put back his adenine bases." She shivers. "I don't even like peas."

Greg and I both laugh. "Well, at least you know something." I add, dropping my hand on her shoulder. "Mendel and peas and basic genetic crosses."

My phone rings, disturbing the almost ridiculously cute moment of support. It's Gil. "Hello…"

"Hey. I'm going to be late. Sheriff wants the scene released ASAP and I don't want to overlook anything. Can you tell Emma?"

"You tell her, she's right here." I hand the phone over, mouthing "your dad," as I do.

Greg looks over. "Stuck at the scene." I whisper, trying not to intrude on the phone conversation that's going on between us. I notice that while Greg isn't touching her anymore, his arm has stayed across the back of the couch; ready to accept her if she falls back in her position against him.

Emma hands the phone back and Gil and I say our goodbyes before I return the phone to its holster. We're silent for a not quite comfortable moment as Emma leans straight back, not against Greg, but not that far away from him, either.

"He's stuck at the scene," she says as she rubs her eyes. "No class today since we already took our dance practical. So I guess I'm going home to study…"

"You know, if you're short a breakfast date, I could help you study over a cup of coffee and some home fries." Greg's offer is gentle, but almost a bit hopeful.

"You wouldn't mind?" She asks, smiling.

"Nah. Sara, you want to come along? We can double team her over some vegetarian omelets…" Greg leans forward and waggles his eyebrows, his silly smile causing Emma and I both to laugh.

I stand, smiling at the two kids on the couch. There are times when Greg surprises me with his maturity, and times where it's hard to see him as more than a kid even though I know what a capable CSI and good scientist he is. Now is one of those times. He's nothing more than a love struck teenager at the moment, and for a second I'm left wondering if they'll start making out the second that I leave. The thought is laughable, but maybe not as much as I'd like to think. Emma assured me the last time I brought it up that there's nothing between them but friendship. I'm pretty sure they'd both like that to change.

"I think I'll pass. I'll head home and walk Bailey just in case your Dad is gone longer than he thinks. You pick Greg's brain till there's nothing left. Or until he passes out from exhaustion, whichever comes first."

Greg knits his eyebrows. "I'm not sure, but I think I should be insulted by that."

Emma swats his arm. "Thanks Sara, but I think I'll go home and walk Bailey while you guys finish up. I'll meet you back here, Greg? I'll pay for the home fries and you can teach me all about protein synthesis."

They smile and shake hands, and all I can think of as I head back to the ballistics lab is that I should prepare Gil for what could be on the way.

(TBC...)


	42. We Are Gathered Here

**A/N: I know- a day late and a dollar short. Real Life has been trying to slow me down as much as possible lately. Anyway- here's 42. I'm going to try my best to keep up with my "every five days" posting schedule. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed and stuck with me.**

* * *

**Chapter 42: We Are Gathered Here**

It's hard not to look at Sara specifically as I finish addressing the rest of my staff, "And don't forget to clear most of Friday morning. Right after shift we're expected at Judge North's chambers. Dress nicely."

Nick groans, and I can't really blame him: what I'm doing to them could be considered cruel. "Griss, do we really need to be there? Can't he just do some Internet research on the protocols? Re-read our reports?"

"Attendance is mandatory." I look across the table to all my CSI's, catching Sara playing with the barely concealed ring on her necklace. It takes all I have not to smile and give away the surprise. "Greg, my office, please." I turn and leave, signaling that everyone should disperse and pretending not to hear the groaning. Hell, I'd be upset if I thought I'd be spending my morning in a meeting with a Judge to update him on the department's latest Crime Scene protocols.

It's slightly disturbing to me that while all my CSI's have complained about having to be there, and asked why it's necessary, none of them have actually questioned the authenticity of the meeting. It's actually a pretty ludicrous cover story and not one of them has seen through it.

Greg is right behind me as I enter my office. "Take a seat." He nods and sits across from my chair, smiling nervously as I close the door and take my seat. In so many ways he reminds me of myself: maybe not in his cocky self-assuredness, but in his determination and tenacity when it comes to his job. While I was wary of him when he was first assigned night shift a few years ago, he quickly proved himself to me as not only a well-qualified professional, but also a fine young man. Even though his personality is often a bit more rambunctious than I'm used to, he's come through for me every time, especially when it's counted.

"Now that you've completed the required testing and field training you'll be operating as a CSI Level One." Greg began to smile and sit up, but I stopped him with the gesture of my flexed hand. "It will be on a trial basis and you're not to do anything without consulting a Level Three, understood?" He nodded, and I smiled at him. "After a probationary period of three months you'll be able to run your own scenes with the assistance of a level two or three CSI, and three months after that you'll be evaluated in the field for your official full level one status. Any questions?"

Greg was practically beaming as he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "No. Thank you so much!"

"No thanks are necessary, Greg. You put in the work and you deserve it." We look at each other for a moment before I continue. "If you don't mind, I'd like to sort of… mentor you… myself. I see a lot of great potential in you, Greg."

"I uh," he smiles, his hands gripping each other with nervous energy, "I would be really honored, Griss." He smiles, a really big, genuine smile at me. I can't do anything but smile back.

I close the file in front of me, and he senses the change in my mood. Seriousness pervades as I fold my hands together on my desk. "If you have a moment I'd like to speak with you about something else."

Greg sat up straighter and nodded, his hands slowing. "Sure."

I removed my glasses, trying to deliberately soften my manner. I didn't want to scare him. Well, at least not a lot. "I'm not as thick as some people around here assume me to be. Most of the time I simply prefer to watch things play out rather than interfere. In general I try to stay out of the gossip mill. I'm only addressing this because of the nature of what it is… of who it involves." Greg nods slowly, and I'm fairly sure he has no idea what I'm getting at. "Greg, I'd like to know your intentions when it comes to my daughter."

His mouth flops open two, three times before he leans forward and blinks slowly. It would be comical if I didn't feel for the young man in front of me. "Emma?" He asks, his voice cracking slightly. "I, uh," He clears his throat and looks right in my eyes. "I like her, a lot. I won't lie. She is a great person that I love to talk to- to spend time with." His eyes widen a bit with realization, and I tip my head in to listen to what he has to say. "Wait- you mean that people are talking about... me and Emma? That's…that's… I haven't…"

"I know."

"You know?"

I smile at him faintly. "I know all of that, and I know that you've been nothing but a good friend to her. I also know by the look on your face that it worries you just to think about people talking about her- knowing what the office gossip often revolves around. I know all that. What I want to know, what I don't know, is what your intentions are."

Greg looks around the room, choosing his words carefully before he looks me straight in the eyes again. If nothing else, the simple fact that he can, would, look me in the eyes is admirable. "I _intend_ to be her friend. It would be a lie to say that I wasn't attracted to her, but I think that she has more important things on her mind right now than me. I want what's best for her."

"And if she thinks that you're what's best for her?"

Greg thought for a second as I reminded myself that this was not an inquisition. "Then I think she should finish school before she decides that." He looked away for a second, and when his eyes met mine again, he was the one in charge. "I want what's best for her, Grissom. I keep trying to see her like a little sister, like Nick does, but I just can't. I want what's best for her, though, and that's why I'll wait for her to make that decision. You have my word that I have not done anything inappropriate, nor will I when it comes to her, Grissom."

It is in this moment that I see the man behind the comical DNA tech, and I smile. "She is more important to me than anything, Greg. I trust that I can count on you?"

He stood, eyes riveted on me. "You can." I stood, held out my hand, and shook his hand firmly.

"I can." I smiled at him "Now get back to work."

* * *

*~*~*

"So anybody know where Grissom is?" Warrick asked as he paced in the waiting area of the lobby. "Nick, you got here early- you didn't see him at all?"

I straightened my tie and leaned back into the uncomfortable chair. "Nope, didn't see him at all." I turn to my colleagues on the couch across from me. "Cath, Greg, you guys do remember him saying to meet him in the lobby, right?"

"Yup," Greg answered, seemingly unconcerned that we were all bothered by having to wait.

"You know, this is fishy to start with. I mean, I have never heard of a judge doing this, and why would Grissom even need us here? He could do it on his own!" Catherine threw down the fashion magazine she'd been flipping through and stood, joining Warrick in pacing.

Warrick stopped moving and looked at us, his brows knit. "You're right… this does sound fishy."

A soft female voice from behind me startled us all. "You're just figuring this out now?"

I stood and turned a smile on my face. Emma stood just behind my chair in a soft pink cotton dress, big smile on her face. "Come on; let's see if you can figure it out between now and the fourteenth floor."

She turned and left and I looked at Greg as we all filed out to follow her to the bank of elevators. "You knew about this."

Greg laughed, "I did not, Nick. I've had my suspicions, though."

We all stepped onto an elevator and Warrick started to laugh as Emma pushed the button for the 14th floor. "Wow, we were really pretty stupid, huh?"

"Yeah, I feel really smart right about now," Catherine added in, rolling her eyes.

I dropped my arm around Emma's shoulders with a smile. "They're getting married, aren't they?"

"Yup! Dad's getting hitched!" Emma smiled as the elevator dinged, and stepped out from under my arm. "Follow me please."

We followed dutifully, if not in a lot better mood, down the hall to a door marked Judge North where Emma smoothly entered and held the door.

"Hey guys. Surprised?" Grissom, head to toe in a monochromatic black suit, smiled at us, hands held wide to the side. Sara smiled wider than I was used to, just off to the side of him and looking gorgeous in a white knee length dress with matching jacket. Brass was standing off to the side and smiled before he lifted a digital camera and preserved our looks of happy shock.

Catherine pushed her way up to the front and hugged Grissom. "You really got us this time. Some bunch of CSI's we are." Warrick and I shared a knowing glance and smiled at seeing the old Catherine out for even just a moment.

The door opened and Judge North stepped in, a smile on his face. "So, we all ready to get married today?"

* * *

*~*~*

We wanted it to be simple: our closest friends and Emma. Grissom's Mother was still alive but travel was hard for her, so we planned a trip on our way to our Honeymoon. Neither of us had any other family that we were close with, and in a way, that made it a lot simpler.

It seemed to move in a blur. I remembered getting dressed after shift, Emma driving me to meet Grissom at the courthouse, Brass greeting me, the rest of the team arriving… I remember standing next to Gil, the Judge's mouth moving, but no words coming out; just soft strings of sound. I remember flashes from Brass' camera. I remember repeating strings of words, and the same words flowing from Gil's mouth, and I remember clapping as we kissed.

I remember taking more pictures, and a row of cars following us to one of Grissom's favorite restaurants for brunch. I remember the sounds of silverware against Champaign glasses filled with mimosas followed by passionate kisses that were now allowed to be public. I remember fiddling with my ring after washing my hands in the ladies room, petrified that I'd lose it. I remember Greg and Nick transferring luggage from the back of Emma's car to the back of Grissom's.

I remember Grissom carrying me over the threshold to our hotel suite for the day before we catch our flight to California tomorrow morning. I remember the first time he called me 'Sara Grissom' in a breathy, passion laden voice.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, his lips gently grazing the curve of my ear as he pulls me closer to him in the bed and interrupts my train of thought.

"Remembering today. It seems so far away already." Spooned together in bed, we face the gauzy curtains of the floor to ceiling windows, the sunset casting us in tones of orange and rose. His hand drifts over my naked stomach to my side, sliding gently from ribs to hip. The caress is so soft, so familiar.

His hand reaches my ribs again and this time follows the curve under and down my arm all the way until he reaches my hand, threading our fingers together so that our rings rest against one another. He brings our hands up over my shoulder and kisses my knuckle around the band of gold that binds me to him. "All good memories, I hope Mrs. Grissom?"

Keeping our hands together between us I turn in his arms so that we're face to face. "The best, Mr. Grissom."

(TBC...)


	43. I Know

**A/N**- IandB is truly a different kind of story for me. Since I planned out the end months ago, I knew I wanted to do a "Honeymoon" chapter, but I didn't want it to be a pwp "we're on our honeymoon and having sex" chapter, I wanted it to reveal something more about the G/S relationship because I've strayed from it for a while. I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

**Chapter 43: I Know**

Being Mrs. Gilbert Grissom, I should know something about the man whose name I've taken, and I do.

I know, for instance, that he loves baseball only slightly more than football but will watch any sport rather than lacrosse. I know that while his specialty is entomology, he's supremely interested in the human condition, and would rather study human behavior only slightly more than he'd like to spend his time studying bugs. I know that he prefers scotch over chardonnay and white wines over red, but he'll pair beer with a steak any day.

I know the silly side of Gil Grissom that is hardly ever visible: smiling and joking, he is even capable of tickling when he's in that mood. I know what it sounds like when he's roaring with laughter. I know how single-mindedly competitive he gets when doing something as simple as playing Scrabble. I know the half smile he gets when looking at Emma only barely conceals his love and pride for her. I know what it's like to feel his body shake with quiet sobs.

I know his touch.

I know the touch of his hand on my shoulder. I know the feel of his five o'clock shadow gently rasping across the skin of my neck. I know the feel of his lips trailing across the skin of my inner thigh.

I know that Gil Grissom never makes love the same way twice.

Making love with my husband, I've decided, is like a transcendental religious experience. Every move, every caress, every word is tied to how he feels at that moment, reflects how he sees me, and shares in the goal of not only pleasure, but of finding a way to be closer, to feel, if only for a moment, whole and content and safe.

There are days when we're like a slow, soft burn. Soft caresses and gentle embraces give way to exploratory kisses. Care is taken with the setting: candles, music, food, an evening out or in… it's all often planned and carried out with exquisite precision that only serves to build the tension and desire within us.

He'll peel my clothes from me with such reverence and care that it's all I can do to breathe. Each inch of skin is examined and kissed as it's exposed. His hands, softer than I always expect, run over each bare part of me as he speaks softly. When we finally come together it's about moving as one, being together, finding each other after years of uncertainty. Afterwards, we stay together, clinging and caressing, unwilling to let go of the perfection we've found in each other's arms.

We have our moments of unrestrained passion, as well. I can see it burning in his eyes during shift when he thinks I'm not looking. I can see the longing and the desire that for whatever reason demanded by daily life has to be restrained. When Gil drops those restraints it's like nothing I've ever experienced. He's rough, but gentile. He holds me hard, but like he's afraid I'll break. Those days we can't crash into each other hard enough or fast enough. Clothes are barriers to be torn or pulled until they're at least out of the way if not gone. We're rough and brash and demanding and only grunts and gasps of pleasure come out of our mouths. We never stay in one position long, moving and changing as we push together towards pleasure. We'll tumble over and then apart, breathing harsh gasps of breath.

Each time we come together is different. For as many major categories as I can fathom, there are billions of sub-categories. Sometimes it's a lazily slow need for contact and sensation. Other times it's about passion. More often than not it's emotional, but sometimes it's all I can do to keep our eyes locked as I feel him fill me as completely possible. Some days we laugh our way through the entire thing, joy bubbling up and refusing to be ignored.

When I woke up one night crying, fear and loss overflowing from a nightmare compounded by that day's stress, he held me close and dried each tear as it came. Buried in the safety of his body, my eyes hidden in the soft skin of his neck, I'd never felt more safe, or more complete. We didn't have sex that night, but I'm not quite sure that we didn't make love.

The first time we made love as a married couple started in gentle kisses and dissolved into happy fulfillment in our hotel suite.

The first time we made love on our honeymoon we'd been planning on spending the day on the private beach outside our secluded island bungalow. I came out of the bathroom in my suit when he stepped in my way, black trunks low on his hips and towel slung over his shoulder.

"What is that?" He'd asked, his voice low and husky.

"My bathing suit," I replied, smiling a bit at his reaction.

His breath quickened as he looked me up and down. "That turquoise fabric is many things: thin, small, tight… but none of them is a bathing suit."

He stepped closer, his fingers dipping under the halter string on the admittedly small top to caress my skin. I'd bought this with just this kind of reaction in mind. "Well, I was hoping to minimize tan lines…" I stepped closer to him, smile curving over my lips. "I was thinking maybe you could rub some lotion into my back, then I'd untie the ties and-"

"There's a better way, you know." He interrupted, both hands sliding up my shoulders and slowly starting to untie the knot holding up the two small triangles of fabric. Releasing the ties he let them fall, the strings fall forward, the fabric of the cups taking slow, tantalizing seconds to peel away from my skin to reveal me to him before hanging from the string tied around my rib cage. "If we don't go outside, you won't have to worry about tan lines."

I know the feel of his arms around me, the feel of his lips crawling up my skin at an agonizingly slow pace, the intimate feel of him entering me in every position we could fathom.

In those moments as we came together in that paradise, though, I knew something deeper. Panting, watching palm trees sway upside down out the window every time I opened my eyes, closing my eyes and feeling every inch of my husband in and around me, feeling his muscles bunch and contract as I held him to me, I knew something more.

I knew that it didn't matter where we were or what we were doing. I knew that it wouldn't matter if we'd actually made it to the beach instead of tumbling onto the couch with my head hanging upside down over the armrest. I knew that it didn't matter that he had a grown daughter and that our own familial future was discussed but purposefully in a state of never-ending limbo. What I did know as he held me to him and ran his fingers through my hair when our breathing had slowed was that he cherished me in a way I have never experienced before. Gil Grissom, for whatever reason, loves me.

Somehow he finds a way to show me every day in the little things he's come to know about me. He makes sure that there's always a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup somewhere in the house for when I've had a bad day. He somehow always knows when I need to be left alone, or when I need a hug. He knows just how I like my coffee. He picks nights when I won't be home to make pork chops for him and Emma because he knows that I still have pig-related eating issues. Without asking he switched to shopping organically after having a peek in my fridge when we were first dating.

Most of all, Gil knows he is clueless. He knows that for all the things he does know about me, there are a million things he doesn't understand. There's one specific look he gets on his face when he knows that he doesn't know, and the fact that he will come to me, talk to me, and try to understand tells me just how committed he is to us. And us together is much better than us apart: this I know.

(TBC...)


	44. Come Together

**A/N- **Holy crap on a cracker! I'm sorry it's taken me almost a month to update! Updates will be slow as I come up to the last few chapters I have written/beta'd. Kelly is doing a fabulous job betaing- so as I get them back they'll come out. Hope you all enjoy this!

* * *

**Chapter 44: Come Together**

With Gil and Sara still away on their honeymoon, I didn't expect to see any Grissom's anywhere, least of all at Lindsey's dance studio. I was, apparently, wrong. Emma waltzes in, smiles at the receptionist and talks briefly before settling against the wall of the waiting room to watch the hustle between classes while she waits for someone.

I'm sick of being like this around her. All I can see is how pretty she is, how she commands the attention of everyone around her. She smiles at the antics of a couple of three year olds playing by her feet and I want to just ring her neck at how sugary sweet and contrived she seems.

But damn it all, I'm jealous. I have tried my best to bring my daughter up in every way I know possible and feel like in some ways I've failed. Then here comes Emma, this wonderfully adjusted child after… I… oh! Even my thoughts aren't straight about it anymore. Rationally I shouldn't be jealous. I can't justify it anymore. I will be nice to her. I am the adult.

I guess it's ok if I still secretly hate her, though, right?

She sees me and I can't fault her when her smile wavers. She forces it back up, however, and waves displaying much more maturity toward me than I have ever shown to her. Lindsay chooses that exact moment to emerge from the bathroom behind me.

"Mom, I'm ready… Emma!" And in less than a second she's bolted past me and to the girl across the room. For all of our awkward interactions, Emma has never taken it out on Lindsay: she hugs her whole-heartedly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm meeting with Miss Angela about maybe teaching here."

"Seriously?" Lindsey screeches, all smiles. "That would just be amazing."

"Well, I think so, but we'll see. I'm meeting her today and then I might teach a class for fun next week, then we'll go from there." Emma smiles and fidgets as I get closer. She seems nervous, and I can't tell if it's my fault or she's nervous about the possibility of teaching.

"She wants you to fill in for Miss Katie who's having a baby." Lindsay says matter of factly, looking up at her newest hero. It's hard to remember if she ever looked at me like that.

"I think that's the plan."

"Emma?" Ethel, the receptionist, interrupts with her typical grandmotherly charm. She's worked her since I came as a child. "Angela will see you now. You can head right to the back studio."

"Thank you," Emma returns with a smile. "I'll see you soon, ok Lindsay?"

Emma smiles half-heartedly at me as she turns away to the small hall that branches off to the three studios. I can't let this keep going on like this. In a fit of insanity, I follow her. "Emma!" We're two feet into the hall- far enough away from the waiting area and the studio that I have a false sense of privacy.

"Yes?" She turns, a look of near terror neatly held in check.

"I just…" I take a deep breath and lay it out on the proverbial table, "I've been a bitch. I'm taking out things on you that I shouldn't. It's my problem and I've been unfair. I'm going to… try to do better with that." I'm not really sure what I was going to say, but that's really all I can muster at the moment.

Emma blinks a few times and slowly I see warmth come back into her eyes. "I really appreciate that, Catherine. If I am offending you, I'd like to know because it's not intentional." I shake my head at her, but no words come out and we share an awkward silence. She clears her throat and glances at the open doorway waiting for her. "Well, I really do appreciate that. Lindsay's a great girl and I really enjoy spending time with her."

"I think, maybe," my throat clogs up momentarily with how hard this is to say, "you should spend more time with her. She really looks up to you. I think it's a good thing."

She nods. It's awkward, but we've come to some sort of truce here. "I have to go…" She backs away a few steps.

"Me too…" A wave and a half smile, and it's over.

I think I feel better. I think.

"Mom, what was that?" Lindsay looks up at me as I guide her out into the simmering spring heat and to the car.

"How would you like to spend some more time with Emma?"

* * *

"Your text message said to bring brawn and we'd be rewarded with beer." Nick and I stand smiling on the porch of the Grissom residence, smiling.

"That is what I promised, Greg, and I'm a woman of my word!" She opens the door wide and we file in with quick hugs. "Ash!"

"What?" A female voice floated in from the back porch.

"Get your butt out here!" Emma laughed as she locked the front door and a young woman bounded in the back, preceded by Bailey who immediately demanded Nick's attention and mine. "This is Ash, my old roommate. She's here to make sure I don't... what were my Dad's words?"

"Run amuck while he's away? Throw wild parties? Trash his house and live like a wild animal? Forget to feed the cockroaches?" Ash asked, her eyebrows lifted in a silly, mocking gesture. I think I like this girl.

Emma's cheeks reddened slightly and she shook the silliness off. "Something like that. Anyway… this is Nick, and this is Greg."

We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. "So," Nick asked, standing akimbo and puffing out his chest, "What did you need us strapping, manly men for?" What could I do but match his posture? So we stood there, posing as if we were superheroes, cheesy smiles, arched eyebrows, and all.

"Well, Captain America and He-Man, I have some very heavy boxes out in the car that I picked up this morning… Sara's wedding present to my Dad: a new fifty inch plasma TV, surround sound, and entertainment center."

"Wow…" My mouth hung open.

Nick's hands dropped by his sides, his jaw as slack as mine. "That sounds like some set up…"

"Wait 'till you see it!" Ash smiled, winking at Nick. Oh yeah, she's sweet on his southern charm ploy already.

"If you guys help us carry it in and set it up, you will be paid handsomely in pizza, beer, and possibly, possibly a preview via DVD hook up."

"Where are the boxes?" I ask, purposefully making a fool out of myself, looking around and bouncing on the balls of my feet just to get a smile out of Emma.

"Out in my Dad's car. C'mon you superheroes… it'll take all four of us to maneuver these things." Emma grabbed the keys off the counter. "Ash, can you put Bailey in my room?"

"Sure, I'll be right behind you guys." She smiled and grabbed the dog's collar after giving him a good vigorous pet.

Emma opened the front door wide and winked. "Let's go He-man!"

Nick and I both stepped forward at the same time. "Dude, I am sooo He-Man."

Nick stopped me with a hand on my chest. "And hide my face behind a mask? Never, man… I am soo He-Man."

"Nope. I am He-Man, all the way." We continued our silly bickering until Emma and Ash were standing and staring at us while we waited at the trunk of Grissom's Denali.

Emma cleared her throat, "Um, guys, you do realize that He-Man basically runs around in a Speedo?"

"You can be He-man."

"Sorry, Greg, I think you called it first."

"Damn."

* * *

"All right," Ash said as she collected the last of the errant packing peanuts, "Pizza's on its way and the beer is frosty cold. I think we deserve at least that much for assembling the stand and hooking up the TV, DVD player, VCR, and surround sound."

"Hell yeah," I laugh, folding a the last cardboard box flat, "Especially since the directions to assemble the entertainment center were in Korean without pictures."

Emma laughed adorably, errant strands of hair falling into her eyes as she looked over the work we'd done. "As long as it doesn't fall down I'm happy. I have to go feed the zoo… you guys can come to a consensus about a DVD and I'll be right back."

"The Zoo?" Nick asked, gathering the garbage bags full of packaging to take out later.

"Yeah," Ash tied the garbage bag Nick handed her and piled it next to the stack of recycling we'd accumulated from all the cardboard boxes. "Her Dad's menagerie of insects."

"Got it." I cringed, looking at the shelf of DVD's across from me. The titles were varied; a handful of documentaries, classics, some dramas, some comedies, noting really out of the ordinary.

"Nick, can you give me a hand here?" Ash asked, hefting a pile of cardboard up in her arms.

"Sure." He smiled and grabbed the rest of the trash, following her out the door. I couldn't help but laugh. That girl was in trouble and he had no idea how tight he was wringing her in.

Or maybe he did… and that was a slightly disturbing thought. We had, after all spent the better half of the day joking, flirting, and having fun while we assembled one of the coolest entertainment systems I've ever seen. I mean, hell, I spent the entire time trying to make Emma laugh and thinking of how I'll ask her out once she's graduated. Once she's older. But I guess she really isn't that young, is she? Only one year left…

God, where did Nick go? I could use a good smack upside the head right now.

From the back of the house a choked voice broke into my detrimental train of thought. "Shit. Shit shit shit… Hey guys!?"

That did not sound like a good thing- her voice was strained, and I don't think I've ever heard her curse… "Emma?" I ask as I nearly run back to her room.

"Help?" She looks sheepish, holding up Grissom's old tube television, half on her dresser and tilting over the edge into her arms. "I lost my balance and now I can't move without dropping it." Grabbing the bottom I notice that her hands are grabbing it from the bottom back and in no shape to move the TV with any kind of success.

"Push up and I'll get it on the dresser, ok?" With a little maneuvering we get the set to its intended destination. I can't pass up the opportunity to rib her for this, "I do believe that I ended up being He-Man, not you…"

We're standing close together, and I can't hold back the urge to tuck some of the errant strands of hair behind her ear. So I do. "I thought I could do it…" Emma shrugged, stepping a bit closer. "Thanks."

"Anytime." I lift her arms and gently maneuver them up until she takes the cue and starts flexing her muscles. "I think you need a little more time in the gym before you go heavyweight again." I play the part lightly, pushing down on her biceps with a gentle finger.

She stops almost abruptly, dropping her hands until they rest gently on my own biceps, caressing gently through the material of my t-shirt. "I can always ask you." Her voice is quiet, and her eyes seem more, serious, more determined than I've seen them in a long time.

Her lips are on mine and I have the startling revelation that she's kissing me.

I am kissing Emma Grissom.

And it's not stopping. I'm not stopping. She's not stopping. Her lips are soft, and she's stepping closer and I have to close my eyes so I can burn this moment into my memory because this should never, ever, happen again.

But, oh, I want it to happen again and again.

I've just regained the use of my body; hands moving to her waist to pull her closer and oh God I want to taste her and I start to-

"Pizza's here!"

I have never been more disappointed to hear Nick's voice in my life. We literally jump apart.

"Greg? Emma?" Ash's voice floats back to us.

"Be right there!" Emma yells past me. "Greg was helping me set up the TV." We look at each other, and I can't tell if she regrets it. I want to lick my lips, to savor every last second of this moment if it will never happen again. The she laughs. She damn near giggles. This is still not helping. "Well, was it good for you?" She whispers between giggles.

I'm not sure what has struck her as funny, but it's infectious. I'm holding back my own giggles. "Yeah, you?" She nods vigorously and steps back closer to me. This time, I move forward slowly. "I uh… maybe we shouldn't do this right now."

"Maybe not."

And I kiss her again anyway: one small, soft, slow kiss. Stepping back I sweep my arm out, "After you," and follow her out into the hall to rejoin our friends and wonder what the hell this means now.

(TBC…)

**(A/N- The next chapter will be an IandB Companion. Look for it in about a week.)**


	45. I Kissed a Greg

**A/Ns-** I know the chapter title is not grammatically correct, but it's a play on a song title by Jill Sobule way back from the 90's. Silly song, even better video, so I couldn't resist. Also, I titled this Waaay before the new song came out. Really.

Also, if you missed it, **The IandB companion "Dream a Little Dream" fits in between chapters 44 and 45.** If you haven't read that, I suggest you do. It's one of my favorites. Check out my profile to find it- it's posted on ff . net

Sorry for the delay in posting. I was down for the count with two consecutive (but minor) illnesses. We're officially resuming a chapter or two per week until the end. It's almost over! (Clocking in at around 53ish chapters-I still have another couple to actually write!)

Again, if you're going to favorite me or put this story on alert, I'd like to get a review knowing why- even if it's only a few words. It helps me as a writer to know what's working and what's not, especially as we're getting close to the end!

* * *

**Chapter 45: I Kissed a Greg**

Our Honeymoon was far too short in my estimation, but on the plane home, I looked at Gil and suddenly I couldn't wait to walk into the townhouse and start something new. We may have been living together, but we were married now and I couldn't wait to see what it was like to go back to our normal lives and be able to call him my husband. The tropical paradise had made our marriage seem like a dream, this was making it real.

Emma picked us up at the airport, drove us home and escorted us to the door, stepping aside with a smile to reveal the wedding present I'd arranged. He didn't see it at first; he was too preoccupied as he lifted me into his arms and over the threshold. After a swift kiss, he turned to Emma, taking her in his arms and kissing her on the forehead before he turned and noticed the large change in his living room.

"Just a little wedding present," I whispered next to him.

"Wow." His eyes lit up as he stepped forward, examining the new set up. "Not quite that little…"

"Yeah, well… You like your documentaries and they're all coming out in these great High Definition formats so you can see every little nuance. Plus you never go to the movies, so you should at lease have a good set up here." I smiled and hugged him from behind.

He turned and kissed me. "Thank you."

"Thank Emma. She set it up." His eyebrow rose as he looked at his daughter.

She shrugged. "With Ash and Nick and Greg. I mean, I'm strong, but I couldn't set all that up by myself."

I push him forward playfully. "Go play, Emma and I will get the luggage out of the car." He smiles widely and nearly jumps out of his skin in an attempt to get to the set-up. Emma smiles at me widely on the way out to the car. "You guys did a great job. I'll have to thank Greg and Nick tomorrow. It didn't really occur to me that you girls might need some help with all that." I open up the back of the truck with a smile, but Emma's mood has changed a bit.

She's chewing on her lip as she reaches in and pulls out a bag. She looks at the closed door of the townhouse, then back at me. Eyes shifting around nervously, she nearly whispers, "I kissed Greg."

I freeze, eyebrows nearly touching my hairline. "Wow."

She's not looking at me, and I'm trying to process this. I knew it was coming, but I didn't think it would happen like this. I simply envisioned one day they'd just be, well, dating. I guess I'm conveniently forgetting about all of the metaphorical dancing Grissom and I did before we were ever dating. "Yeah."

"Well, is this a bad thing?" I turn to her, my hand on my suitcase, though no luggage has made it out of the car yet.

"I… I don't think so. I like him a lot, but…" She sounds unsure, and I can't really recall what I was like at her age, if I'd ever questioned myself that much, but I'm sure I had.

"But what? You kissed him. Did he kiss back?" I turn and sit on the tailgate.

"Well, yeah. But I don't really know if he's interested in me like that. What if he's just being nice to me because of my Dad?" She mirrors my position, sitting and dangling her legs over the edge.

"You know, and I know, that he's interested in you for you. Greg is not the kind of person who would play around with that kind of thing." She looks up at me and I can see she doesn't want to believe me. "You can't tell me that you don't see it."

"I sort of do…" She sighs and pulls a carry-on into her lap, desperate to occupy her hands. "He's so much older, though, and my Dad…"

I laugh. I can't help it. "You're serious?" I rein the laughter in, but I can't hide my smile. "You do know that your father did just marry _me_. Not only is he 'so much older' than me, but he was my boss. You're really serious?"

She laughs a bit. "Ok, ok, I see your point."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No. Nick and Ash came back in. It was kinda… it just happened, really. I didn't plan on it." She leans back in the car onto Gil's suitcase.

"You never do when it comes to things like this. And when you do try to plan, it never comes out the way you expect." In our comfortable silence, I can't help but think about how true my words are. I never thought all those years ago when I first fell in lust with a guest lecturer that I'd be his wife all these years later having a heart to heart with my twenty-one year old stepdaughter. No, not the way I planned at all, but I wouldn't change it.

The front door opens and Grissom sticks his head out, smile on his face. "What's taking so long? You have to come see this thing!"

"We'll be right in," I smile and wink, jumping up from the tailgate. He slips back into the house and I resume the previous conversation as Emma and I start to haul the bags from the truck. "Talk to him."

"My dad?"

"Well, yeah," I shut the tailgate and turn to her. "I was thinking Greg first, but you should talk to your Dad, too. Sort it out. Be honest- you'll feel better."

"Thanks." Her smile returns as we head into the house and it occurs to me that I have already performed my first major step-mom job: talk about boys. I think I really like this whole family thing.

* * *

*~*~*

"Hey Greg." Emma's words echo through the phone line, sounding much more withdrawn and shy than I'm used to hearing. "You have a minute?"

"For you? Always." I sat back, gnawing on my lip, waiting. I haven't slept since that startling dream, waking up on the floor with images of a homicidal Grissom pretty much put an end to sleeping for a while. "What's on your mind?"

"I kissed you." It came out in a rush, a tumble of emotions that I could only share in feeling, but not explaining. How do you explain fear and happiness and lust and confusion that entwines with each other so intimately that they're no longer distinguishable but ever-present in a knot sitting squarely around your chest?

"I kissed you back." The second the words tumbled out I knew they were the wrong ones. I stuttered horribly as I tried to fix it somehow, "But, I uh… we kinda…" With a deep breath I fought the tightening knot around my lungs and simply let it out. "I liked it. I liked it a lot."

She lets out a huff of confused, but relieved laughter. "Me too." And then we float together. Seconds overlapping and it's probably less time than it seems, but it seems like forever that we're just existing in this moment that we've avoided for so long- a moment where we're honest and allowed to be honest about it. I let myself pretend for these few seconds that with our admission we've simply solved all our fears about this, all the complications and worries and we just exist. She breaks it, though, pushes us into free fall with a few simple words. "So what do we do about it?"

There are many things I can think to do about it. Wisk her away and travel Europe. Go over there right now and kiss her the way I would have if Nick and Ash hadn't returned. Propose marriage right now. Run my hands up and down her legs; the legs that captivated me from the first moment I saw her with… And then an image of Grissom, eyes glinting like the light shining off of the scalpel in his hands as he reaches over me flashes through my vision and I nearly jump. Honesty's the best policy, right? "Well, I uh, I don't want you to be mad."

"Um, ok…" She sounds wary. I would be too if someone just dropped that kind of line on me.

"Your Dad approached me about my intentions… with you, my intentions towards you. He uh, you know, noticed we kinda…"

"Right, right." She jumps in, saving me from myself.

"I promised him that I would… That you should…"

"Spit it out, Greg. You're making me nervous here." Her voice shakes, just a little. How can I do this without hurting her? Without making it sound totally ludicrous?

"I like you. A lot. We have fun together and we enjoy each other's company and I really, really liked kissing you. I don't want to mess this up, either. And you still have… This is going to sound like crap, but you need time. I want you to finish school worrying about classes and finals, not me. I don't want to have to worry about what your friends are saying about you dating the older guy or what crap Grissom's going to get for me dating his daughter. And I want… I want what's best for you because I really care about you and because I'd want us to be… to be real. To be serious." I take a deep breath, not even sure what I just said. "It sounds awful, I know…"

"No. It doesn't. It… it makes sense. But only…"

"Only what?" I sit up, amazed that she didn't reach through the phone and slap me for what I've said.

"Only if you don't use it as an excuse. Only if we still get to be friends while I finish school and you finish your CSI training. If you run away then it's crap, then it's complete shit and I'll have to hunt you down," she finished with a little laugh, but it was hollow and I knew that she was completely serious; that my next words could either make this all better or break her heart.

"Are you kidding?" If she can joke, I can, too. "You still have my Sugarcult CD. I'm not going anywhere."

She laughed a real, hearty, full laugh. "Ok, I guess that's settled then. Friends."

"Yup," I say cheerfully, though I'm sure that somehow I've deceived myself into thinking this will be easy. "Friends."

There's a silent moment again, and it's not nearly as heavy as before. "Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we be friends that kiss?" Her voice is slyly sexy, but still tinged with timidity.

"Oh yeah. We can be friends that kiss."

(tbc...)


	46. StressRelease

**Chapter 46: Stress/Release**

"Hey," Grissom whispers as he walks through the door to our bedroom. The tension in his shoulders is a dead giveaway that something's wrong. He leans over and pecks me on the cheek, the book in my lap forgotten.

In the three months since we've been married, I watched the stress I thought we'd lost on our honeymoon slowly creep back into his life and his shoulders. He turns his back to me, stripping out of his black polo and pants, walks in the bathroom and brushes his teeth as the morning sun creeps through the heavy shades. His shoulders are high, the muscles in his neck bulging more than I'm used to seeing, his jaw somehow tense even as he drops it slack to accommodate the toothbrush he's using. His eyes are… sad? I close my book and drop it on the nightstand, waiting as he finishes his ritual and slowly makes his way to bed.

I lift the light blanket aside as he sits; his back to me. I can't fight the urge to run a hand over his back, hoping with every stroke to erase some of the tension. Before I know it I'm on my knees, actively kneading my knuckles into his flesh. His head drops with a sigh. "Thank you."

I drop a kiss on the nape of his neck in response as my hands move to his shoulders. "Want to talk about it?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure." He's relaxing, slowly. His words are carefully chosen, as always. My fingers push deeper into the tiny cords surrounding his spine.

"Work?" I ask.

"No more than usual," he sighs. I can hear the tension starting to melt away in his words.

"Me?" I wonder out loud. I'm worried for a long second before he laughs and turns his head, lifting my hand from his shoulder to kiss it.

"Not at all," I breathe again and move my hand back to the coiled muscles under his shoulder blades.

I lean my chin on his shoulder as my hands move to his lower back, still kneading as they go. "I'm running out of options here."

His hand comes up and tangles in my hair, gently pushing toward him as he turned his head, eyes closed he rested his forehead against mine, our noses sliding gently past one another as I resist the urge to kiss him in the blatantly vulnerable moment. My hands slow and I savor how close we are, the quiet hum of the air conditioner and his soft breathing on my skin and in my ears, his fingers tracing tiny circles on my scalp. More out of comfort than lust my lips find his; slow, soft, chaste. "Come on," I whisper before I gently pull him back against me, lowering us to the bed as he pulls the blanket over his legs.

Gil faces me, his hand winding in a piece of my hair that falls close to him. He works his jaw, lips shifting side to side as he searches for the words. "I'm lost, I think." I don't answer, just wait. "I'm a husband. I'm a father. I'm a CSI. I'm a boss. I'm an entomologist." He takes and deep breath, and in his pause I reach up, twining my fingers in his and leaving my hair to fall to the pillow. "But I'm old, my techniques are antiquated, my daughter's her own person… and even you are more than I sometimes think I deserve."

I try to reply, but he brings our joined hands to my lips, silencing me. "Emma stopped at the lab this morning, left with Greg." It was such a simple statement, so uncomplicated, but so wrapped with confusing feelings for Gil. Emma spoke to him the night after she spoke to me about her changing relationship with Greg; Greg spoke to him the next day. He never told me exactly what was said, but seemed happy, if not slightly unsettled with their arrangement. They were more than friends, but not really dating each other or anyone else for that matter. They'd agreed to take the next year slow, let Emma finish school before they decided on their future. Gil took it with the grace that I knew he would, and though he was concerned for his daughter he continued to mentor Greg, love Emma, and support them both.

He spoke again quietly. "I saw them from my office, through the blinds. They weren't… inappropriate or anything. It was just friends, talking. The way she smiled at him, and the way his eyes lit up when she walked in the room…" His forehead wrinkled for a moment, his eyes far away in the memory, "I'd always hoped she'd have that, but it seems too soon. I just… I just got her back. It seems too soon. But then… I was watching, through the glass of my window after they left and everything just… kept going. It didn't matter that I wasn't out there, it didn't matter that they weren't. The lab just moved on. They were installing that new analyzer in Ballistics and the shifts were changing and something about it just struck me as… significant or rather, insignificant."

Gil drew in a deep breath as he pulled me to him. I snuggled down into his embrace, listening as he poured out the innermost workings of his mind. "I've always thought of myself as a fairly… global thinker. I've always tried to see the big picture, to look at the whole rather than the parts. Today it just felt like… like I wasn't even a part of it all. It was just… I don't know. I don't know."

My hand fell over his chest, gently gliding over his skin and the sparse hair there. "I don't know exactly what to say to that. There… isn't anything to say to that. "I take a deep breath and lever myself up to look into his eyes." It can't be easy to see everything changing around you and to feel helpless. But you're not, you know, helpless. You're not helpless at all."

"It feels that way."

"I am not leaving you. You couldn't make me leave you. Emma is not leaving you. I can see how much she adores you every time she looks at you, in everything she does around the house and every time I see you two together- it just… takes my breath away at the relationship you have with her. As for the lab… well, it will go on, it does go on, when you're not there. But think of the impact you've had on it. Think of the people that you've taught and the improvements you've made. Think of all the cases you've helped to solve. Time may march on, but you've left your footprint there. People will remember you and the things you've done long after you've left. Long after _you've_ moved on, too."

Gil took a long, slow breath through his nose, his eyes rolled to look into the darkness that hid the ceiling, and I thought that maybe, maybe I'd made an impact. "That makes sense."

"Doesn't it?"

He looked back at me and kissed my forehead sweetly before gently urging me to lie back in his embrace. "It makes sense to my head, but not to my heart. I think… I think I'm not used to letting myself feel this much. This isn't… it's not clinical. I can't quantify it. I can't label it and classify it and observe it to understand it. I lived my life like that for so many years: I compartmentalized everything to the point where there was no crossover… no overflow…" He squeezed me close and laid his head on mine. "I've never been able to say things like that to anyone before."

"You can say them to me anytime."

"Thank you." Another squeeze and as he relaxed I could really feel him releasing some of the tension he came in with, his body slowly drifting into sleep. "Love you."

I smiled as I felt myself drifting to sleep. "Love you."

(TBC...)


	47. Reminiscing

**Chapter 47: Reminiscing**

_A/N: Welcome back to the format of the earlier chapters: Time Travel!!! We'll be bouncing through time here and there; hopefully you'll be able to follow where I'm going and where I've been. We are now approximately a year after chapter 46. _

_A/N2: And I know it seems like a year since I updated. I'm really sorry it's taken me so long. In the next couple of days you'll get all the chapters that I have beta'd. After that there are only a couple left to post before this baby is finished. _

_**INNOCENCE AND BEAUTY WILL BE FINISHED AND POSTED IN ITS ENTIERTY BY JUNE 25**__**th.** __That is a promise.

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_

~*~

The album's weight on my lap seems heavier now than it used to; I'm not sure why. Logically I know that there's no reason it should weigh more, no reason that the binding or pages or pictures inside should have more mass to them now, but the weight of the memories may be heavier. They feel heavier on my heart right now. Opening the fake leather binding to look at pictures of my daughter from two decades ago makes my chest ache with memories.

I haven't looked at these pictures in years. I turn the pages slowly, watching her grow up through photos: they start out square and with sepia tones to the color, old with little reminders of California and scatterings of her childhood. Years, recitals, and milestones pass by as the quality of the photos changes to glossy rectangles with sharper lines and more vivid colors. Then they morph to pixilated photos printed from e-mailed attachments from only a few years ago, the last page a picture of her, lips pursed in a blown kiss, standing in front of the car I bought her for her sixteenth birthday.

"What are you doing?" Emma's voice is soft, but close. I didn't hear her come into the room.

"I felt like breaking out some old memories." I point to the book in my lap and tip my head in an invitation. "Indulge your old Dad for a few minutes."

"You're not getting all sentimental on me now, are you?" Her voice is light and happy as she sits next to me and starts to look as I flip back through the pages of the album. "Just because I'm graduating in less than a month…" She smiles a big, blinding smile at me as she says it. This last year has been tough on her: she's held down a part time job teaching dance and at the same time been more involved than ever in her dance department with shows and choreography and clubs and a hundred and fifty page senior project on dance history. I've felt like I've barely seen her, but she never fails to remind me how ready to graduate she is.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and hug her tightly to me; her head rests on my shoulder as she takes over the task of flipping the pages back to the beginning. I stop her and point to a picture of her at 5 years old, smiling up at the camera in a light pink sequined tutu, star-topped wand in her hand. "No matter how old you are, I'll always see you like this: as my beautiful little ballerina."

"Aww, Dad!" She turns her head, giggling a little and slightly embarrassed.

"It's true!" She smiles at me and settles down again, head on my shoulder in a way that reminds me of when she was just a little girl that liked to fall asleep in my arms. I quietly let her turn the pages, tiny laughs erupting every now and then as she looks at the little star that she once was. She's exceeded all my expectations, gone above and beyond and is now, somehow, this amazing person that I don't know how to quantify.

"You're making it hard to live up to your expectations." She whispers into my shoulder.

I pull my glasses off and lay them on the pages before me. I play with the ear piece for a moment while I try to figure out how to respond to that. She doesn't move an inch in that time. I figure that arguing may not be the best approach. "How so?"

"You think I'm so wonderful…"

"You are." That's an easy answer. She is to me and always will be.

"I can't always be. You've never… You've never made me feel bad about my mistakes," she sits up, eyes avoiding me but trying to look me in the eye, "but sometimes it feels like I can never live up to what I know you want me to be. I don't know if I can be that… that… extraordinary."

"What makes you think you aren't already?"

She sighs; I feel her confusion, her insecurity. It's the confusion of the young, the insecurity that she feels looking past her upcoming graduation and onto the precipice of her life. There are so many choices, so many ways to go, and so many lead to failure and obscurity, so few lead to happiness. She looks away for a moment then looks back at me. "I'm one of god knows how many 22 year olds that are about to graduate from college. It's not that big of an achievement. I don't have an exact direction. I have a part time job, and a few ideas, but not much more than that. That barely sounds ordinary to me…"

I try to keep the smile off my face as I place the album and my glasses on the table in front of us. "Ordinary can be extraordinary. So many people never even reach that. I won't give you the speech about what I see day in and day out. I hope you never see what I have to. But I will tell you that all I need to see if your smile every day. That's all I need to know to see that you are extraordinary. You're happy. You know what makes you happy. You know what you want. That's already an achievement."

"But it's not an accomplishment."

"Isn't it?" I lean over the coffee table and open the album again, flipping through slowly. I don't know where to go from here, how to convince her. "You've never disappointed me."

I meant it as an offhanded compliment. Something to fill the space, but it's charged the air between us. It hangs. She whispers softly. "That's what I'm afraid of." I can only look at her in confusion. "I'm afraid of the day when I'll," she pauses, taking a deep breath, "When I'll let you down. I'm not perfect."

"I don't want you to be." I interrupt her with a force that's probably not necessary. I close my eyes and turn to her, reaching for her hand. She's uncomfortable now, but I don't care. She needs to hear this. "You've lived your life with the best of intentions. If anything, you should be disappointed in me. I've let you down in so many ways. But no matter what, I will still love you. You could never do anything to make me stop loving you."

I can see that she doesn't believe me. Or maybe she does. She's still uncomfortable. "What's really bothering you?"

"I don't know. I really, really don't. I wish I did. I almost feel… afraid; afraid of everything. I can't… I haven't…" She laughs. Big and hearty and I don't know if the tears in the eyes are from laughing or crying. "I don't want to be a grown up!"

I can't help but join her in her laughing, but I reach over and hug her anyway. "It's not that bad. At least, I don't think so." I pull back, my hand still on her shoulder. From the corner of my eye I catch a picture of her at five: so wide eyed, so young, so content with a plastic tea set and her father behind the camera. The girl, no- woman, before me is setting out to start her life.

I'm not feeling any emotion like I thought I would. I'm not sad that she could be leaving me; I'm not excited at her prospects. I'm… I'm proud of her. I've felt that before, but not quite like this. "You may be growing up, but I will still be here, always. Probably more than you'd like me to be, but I'll be here for you. Any time you need me. Even if it's just to look at some old pictures, or to pick you up if you drink too much, or to cry about boys to…"

"Dad…"

"Ok, Sara might be better suited to that last one, but you see where I'm coming from, right?"

She smiled. "I do." She picks up the album again, flipping back to the earlier pictures. She points out a picture from when she was seven: a black and silver recital costume sparkles around her as she poses onstage with her bouquet of roses. "You always hated the make-up, but what did you think of the dancing? The recitals? Sitting though all of those other kids just to see me for three minutes in a three hour show?"

"I didn't like the make-up, it's true. But you loved it. You couldn't talk about it enough, couldn't dance enough. Sure, it wasn't always easy to sit through that show, but anything that you loved, I loved. Watching you get so excited- I would have done anything to make sure you could be that excited always. I've tried." Emma blushes, turning away for a second. I smile at her shyness, even with me. So complex, my daughter. I wouldn't have expected anything else. "But watching you dance now- seeing how you've grown, where you've come from…" There are no words, so I lean forward and kiss the top of her head.

She sighs and closes the album, standing. "I have to study. I'll be in my room if you need me." She leans down and kisses me on the cheek. Then she winks and moves away.

She is extraordinary. I hope one day she comes to see it.

(TBC...)


	48. Pomp and Circumstance

**Chapter 48:** Pomp and Circumstance

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It's hard to explain the feeling welling in my throat. With Sara by my side the sun shines brightly across the University's manicured lawn as people mill about, looking for seats. The laughter of the two men next to me snaps me out of the reverie that's lasted far too many quiet moments. We've been sitting here, quietly, for nearly a half hour. I have, at least.

On my left, Sara seems content holding my hand in hers, admiring the quiet bustle around us. Nick's playing with the camera in his hands, already having appointed himself the photographer for today and content to get shots of the banners around us, Greg making ridiculous faces, and the odd snapshot of my profile that he thinks I don't notice. The humidity just starts to get noticeable as the cool of the morning subsides when the crowd turns toward the back of the lawn, slowly following each other's example. A group of black robes and mortar boards can be seen lining up in the distance.

"Oh! This is it!" Nick exclaims as he stands, his excitement is as palpable as the knots in my stomach. Greg, Sara, and I stand, watching as the line of marchers in black move out of the building across campus to process to the piped in notes of Pomp and Circumstance. I still can't see her, and while Nick and Greg crane their necks and argue as to where she might be, it's all I can do to stand up straight.

"You ok?" Sara whispers to me, her arm wound in mine as we watch the graduates continue to march toward us. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing will move past the lump of pride in my throat. I snap my jaw closed and nod my head, smiling a little. The teachers, then the graduate students, pass us in the procession, moving ever closer to the block of folding chairs on the lawn in front of us.

The undergraduates pass in alphabetical order of their major, so she could be at the front. Nick's pushed himself to the front of the onlookers to make sure that he gets a good picture, and Greg's standing on the chair beside me, wobbling a bit, looking for her.

I can see her. Before anyone else spots her, I can see her. She's in the middle of the line that we can see, the tail end still spilling from the building behind her. The black robe and mortar board, the bright hood around her neck and down her back, the honors tassel bouncing around her face… I could see her even a mile away. And happy; she looks so happy.

"There she is!" Greg shouts, wobbling precariously as he waves his arm wildly at her. She sees him and waves back, albeit much smaller than his enthusiastic gesture. I blow her a kiss, I can't help it. She grins widely. Nick comes back as she gets closer, showing off a few photos that he's snapped of her, joining Greg, and a group of other enthusiastic families, by standing on the plastic chairs. She gets within ten feet of us and the boys start to yell her name as she passes. The girls surrounding her, her friends, her class mates, giggle. She waves. I wave back, and slowly turn to wait as the rest of the graduates move past us.

I watch her, my baby girl, the one that fit in the crook of one arm as a new born, until the graduates have swarmed and surrounded her until she's an indistinguishable hat among a sea of black. Greg and Nick had come down at some point when I wasn't watching, and are talking animatedly next to me. I look at Sara.

"I couldn't ever imagine this day." I say with a smile.

She tilts her head, her arm still wound with mine. "What do you mean?"

I sigh, leaning towards her, trying to make this moment as private as it can be while we're in a sea of strangers. "Things with her, my life as it circled around her, was never steady. Even before she was born, there was no plan other than to… to try to give her everything she could need or want. She was always so far away from me. My relationship with Maggie was always so strained. After she graduated high school, I simply pictured her college graduation like that: I'd simply show up like I always did. I would be that father that came with the most expensive bouquet he could find and who only shows up for special events. She'd smile, I'd tell her how proud I was, and then she'd go home with her mother and her step father and I'd come back to Las Vegas. It was always such a… hollow thing that I'd stopped thinking about it all together."

Sara leaned against my side, her other hand clasping my arm as well. "But it's not," it was more a statement than a question

"No." I sigh, looking at the ground, then at the sky. The words need to be delicate. "I was thinking about her mother, about Maggie. As little as I thought about this, I always thought Maggie would be here. I didn't think that I'd be able to share it like this, with the people that I cared about now. I always thought I'd be an outsider in the whole thing, that her achievement would be tainted with my own emotional shortcomings, my own angst over how the situation wasn't ideal."

"And now?" She prompts gently as the last of the graduates move to stand in order at the front.

"It's still not ideal. She's lost her mother, she's lost a lot. She's made some mistakes and she's chosen a tough career path ahead of her. But she's made some good choices. She's a good person, better than she probably should be given her familial history."

"But what about you?" Sara and I sit as the music slowly fades, the crowd quieting.

"I… I'm proud. I have… she has…" I sigh, unsure of how to say what I'm feeling right now. I take Sara's hand in mine. "Now there are four people here, all who love her. We're a family that I've built, that Emma's helped me build. That you've helped me build." I look forward, but lean towards her and whisper, "It's better than I could have ever imagined."

We sit and I glance to my right as the President of the college begins to speak, looking at the profiles of two men who simply began as colleagues and have come to be more like family.

Nick, as Sara's close friend, snuck up on me in his intensity and devotion to this family. I had known, all along, that I could not come between his and Sara's friendship. I didn't even try. I saw him at work, shared the odd dinner or two, but simply categorized him as a friend. It was when Emma joined us that I saw his devotion to Sara, to Emma, even to me. He was always willing to lend a hand: working extra hours to cover Sara and myself when Emma's senior concert came along, dropping by with a pizza when one or the other of us was stuck on a case, Walking Bailey on his day off when we were scattered to the edges of the city. Small things, little almost unnoticeable things, that one finally notices looking back at all the moments. That I finally noticed when he offered to help set up her graduation party.

Greg started so may years ago as an eager, and sometimes vulgar, lab assistant while he was finishing his degree. He became the indispensible DNA tech and now a solid CSI. Most importantly, he was a friend and confidant for Emma when she first arrived. I'm not quite sure what drew them to one another. I've tried to hide my fatherly instinct that no one will ever be good enough for her, to love her and protect her by hiding her away. Greg, as he's grown as a CSI and a man, has shown me that he will do nothing less than his best in trying to make her happy, and that has made me happy. He's shown me enthusiasm for what he does, and a love for my daughter that I only hope can live up to the fairy tale romance they've built for themselves.

I clap, the President has finished speaking. He's introduced a graduate student to speak. The man starts out with clichéd lines about college helping you find who you are.

College helped me find her. Her independence, so forced these last three years by the abandonment, then death, of her mother and step-father, scared me. She seemed to be so put together, so right. She knew what she wanted and how to get it. Had I even helped her to be like that? Had I helped her to grow up? Had I taught her lessons other than helping her with science and math over the phone? Had I taught her anything about real life, about becoming who she wants to be? About how to avoid the fates that I work with every day?

It seemed so inconceivable to me that her life with her mother had not only deteriorated so badly without me knowing, but that she's emerged from it unscathed. Yet, I have no evidence to the contrary that she didn't. I have no evidence to anything except that she's somehow, some way, grown up to be everything I'd hoped for her.

I clap again, vaguely registering the inane ramblings of the graduate student, when Greg pulls out a small digital video camera from his lapel. "Here it is."

I can't help but smile. Sara grabs my hand tightly, and Nick is posed to take a myriad of pictures. My friends, no- my family… my family has chosen to record this moment digitally so that I can record it in my memory, so that I can remember it for the rest of my life.

The President stands at the podium. "Every year, we also choose an undergraduate to make a speech. Students are nominated by fellow students and are chosen by a panel of undergraduate teaching staff. This year I'm happy to introduce Emma Grissom."

She stands from the crowd and walks forward to the podium, only a few seconds pass but it's enough for us to make quite a bit of ruckus and for her cheeks to tinge pink. She stands, hands at the side of the podium, eyes squinting in the sunlight and with the force of her smile.

"I came to UNLV as a transfer student in my sophomore year. As many of you know, that summer, a summer I shared here at the dance intensive, a young girl died." She paused, and I feel the panic rise within me like a tide, flowing out again as I push away the memory. "I don't want to talk about that, or to be clichéd and say how we turned to each other like a family, even though we did. I won't talk about the memories we've made here, because we all know that we'll cherish some, laugh at others, and try desperately to forget the rest." The crowd murmurs a laugh. "I won't talk about all the time we spent here, or what we did here. I want to talk about the experience in its truest sense. Four years ago, we were not the people we are today. Whether it was the classes, the extracurricular activities, or the personal times we went through, we are not who we were."

"So what does that mean?" She asked the audience with a smile. "Before I start to wax philosophical, like so many of you know I can, I'll tell you. It means we've survived. We've come though. We've lived for four years. Unlike Angela Rockfort, we are alive. She died young, without the benefit of the knowledge we have today. Would our knowledge have saved her life? It is unlikely." She pauses collecting herself. "I'm not saying to live for her, or to remember her every day, but we should remember, through the stress, through the confusion, through the coming challenges as we try to figure out what we're going to do with our lives now that there's no one to tell us to get up and go to school, that we're still here and no matter what, there's something that we can do, every day, to make our lives better, to make someone else's life better, to improve something somewhere."

She paused, looking out into the crowd, a small smile on her lips. "My father taught me that every day is a chance to learn something new." I can't help but smile. "Maybe that thing that we learn will be educational, maybe recreational, or maybe, some days, we'll be the ones to teach something new to someone else. Today is the day when we learn what it feels like to graduate from college. For many of us, school has always been a certainty that we'll no longer have. So for some, tomorrow we'll learn what it's like to have the world be our school and to exist as true, working class, educated citizens. For others, tomorrow will become another transition as you search for higher education here and at other institutions. Just because our schooling ends doesn't mean the learning does," Emma pauses and smiles, I smile back and pretend she can see me, "but the good news is: the written tests do!"

She steps back and smiles as the audience claps. The men next to me whoop out loud, Sara lets out a loud whistle, but I can only clap as hard as I ever have as pride and love hold me up as high as I've ever felt.

The Dean steps forward and suddenly there's another parade of black robes. It blurs: the names, the faces, until I can watch my daughter, my only daughter, walk across the stage and receive her diploma.

She says that I have taught her, and I can only hope that I have. However, she is the one who really taught me. Every day of her life she taught me though her unconditional love. She taught me how to love her, how to see the world through innocent eyes when I'd been too jaded, how to see myself and the world in an entirely new way.

The crowd is breaking apart now, graduates filtering through the crowd to be reunited with their families, and Emma is no exception. Sara hugs her tight and I over hear her murmur of how proud she is of her step-daughter. Nick is much less subtle, lifting her up and spinning her around, his drawl more pronounced as he celebrates with her. Greg's tight hug and reverent kiss are things that I'm becoming more comfortable with seeing over the last few months… a thought that sometimes worries me as a father because no one will ever be quite good enough for her.

Finally, she's come to me. I can't hold her tightly enough. I can't express in words, in deeds, in anything but my tear filled eyes how proud I am and how much I love her. She's right- there won't be any more written tests, but there will be test of her strength, her courage, and her knowledge every day. I hope that I can be there for her and I hope that I've taught her enough to get her through them.

(TBC...)


	49. Questions

Chapter 49: Questions

A/N: Here's that time travel thing again! I'm jumping about 2 years into the future. Hope you can follow from there. Btw- I totally made up the proficiency… sorry that I didn't have time to research it.

~*~

* * *

"You know, Greg, your Level Two Proficiency is coming up soon. If you pass, you'll start to amass solves until you reach the mark for your Level Three status." Greg had been standing silently in the doorway to my office for nearly five minutes now as I was reading. He hadn't interrupted my reading, which I found both respectful and infuriating. So I spoke up first.

Greg looked a little surprised as he wandered in and sat down. "Uh, yeah, I know." He was fidgeting: his fingers playing with the edges of his shirt in the doorway, playing with his badge now.

"Are you… nervous?" I put the text I'm reading from aside and take my glasses off, looking at the man who seems more and more like a son to me every day. "I'd like to help you, but since I'll be administering the Proficiency and I've already created yours, it wouldn't be ethical. You could talk to Sara or Nick, though. I'm sure they'd help you."

As Greg's supervisor it's fallen to me to create his Level Two proficiency exam. I've taken an old case that Greg has never been involved in from a national data bank. I'll recreate the scene at a training facility and walk him through evidence as he asks for it. To pass, he must solve the crime I present to him within the five hour time limit. It's not an easy task. I've seen a lot of great criminalists fail their Level Two test more than once, simply because it's timed. It's a rough test, but a fair one. I'm confident that Greg has a good shot at passing the first time, but only if he asks the right questions. It would be unfair for me to help him prepare, though.

"Oh, Sara's been giving me tips for months when we've been out on calls; telling me about her proficiency. I'm, uh, I'm probably not as worried about that as I should be." He's still fidgeting, now playing with my nameplate, so I press on.

"Is there… something else?" Greg hasn't been this nervous around me since before he became a CSI, before he started dating Emma. They've influenced each other in ways I couldn't have fathomed. He's a bit more reserved, she's more outgoing, and if they're together they're always smiling. Any doubts about his worthiness have been proven unfounded. I don't think that I could have picked a better match for her myself. It seems they're almost too idyllic. I know they've fought, had their share of problems, but those pale in my memory. My heart sinks as I begin to wonder if there's something wrong between the two of them.

"Could we meet? After shift? I know that's a few hours away, but this isn't really work related." Greg avoids my gaze. He's always been able to look me in the eyes, but he can barely look at me as he says it. This is not a positive step. He's nervous; he's fidgety, even a little pale.

"Is everything ok, Greg?" It makes me weary that he looks so undone, that he doesn't seem even a bit the confident, cocky man I know him to be.

He takes a deep breath, smiling nervously. "Um, yeah. Everything's ok. I just… I guess I need your opinion on a few things. Not work related."

I nod at him, putting my glasses on, hoping to end the torture for the young man, though mine has just started. Already I'm having trouble slowing my imagination from creating scenarios about what he could possibly want to talk to me about. "I'll meet you at the Diner on Sunset?" He nods and escapes quickly.

I try to go back to my reading, but it's hard to concentrate. Greg is anything but a nervous man. I grab my cell phone, wondering if I should call Sara, or even Emma, if this is something they can shed some light on. At the same time I don't want to worry them. I don't want to give them this feeling. I don't even know what he wants to talk about.

I will in four hours.

*~*~*

* * *

The waitress has just finished pouring my cup of coffee when Greg bounds in, sliding into the booth across from me. He's more of a live wire now, still fidgety, still nervous, but instead of putting off a scared energy he's projecting more eagerness. Perhaps this isn't as bad as I feared. Here goes nothing. "Well, here we are."

"Yes, yes we are." There's a smile on his face, I'm not quite sure what it means. He stares at me for a few minutes. I sip my coffee. The waitress comes and goes when he orders his own coffee. She's back and still he hasn't said anything.

"Greg?" I warn, growing uneasy again.

His hands fidget in front of him. "I'm sorry. I really don't know how to do this. I uh, I respect you enough that I want to. And she doesn't know, not at all, so um, if you could not tell Emma that would be great."

Keeping a secret from my daughter was not what I had in mind when I agreed to this meeting. "Greg, you better start talking because you're only putting your foot in your mouth…"

His eyebrows shoot up and I can see the realization in his eyes that he knows that I have no idea what he's talking about. He takes a deep breath. He goes still. His gaze finds mine: steady and sure. "Grissom, I want to ask your permission to propose to Emma."

I know I don't breathe for what seems like an eternity while we're locked in the moment. I take a second to think about what he's saying. I take another second to really think about what I'll say. When I speak, I know I surprise him. "Why?"

He stares at me, trying to find his voice. "Why do I… why what?" He's thoroughly confused, and though it's tempting to laugh, I want to keep this the serious exchange it deserves to be.

"Why do you want to marry her? And why are you asking my permission?" They seem such deceptive questions. I'm not trying to trip him up, not trying to torture the poor boy that I've truly come to respect, but I can't help but feel there has to be some sort of test- some sort of bar for him to pass before I can allow this to move forward. It's the natural order of things for a father to want to protect his daughter, right?

"Well, I love her." He says it so plainly, nothing hiding in his voice or behind his eyes. I know, know deep in my heart, that he speaks the truth. "I love her more than I thought possible and I want to give her everything she could ever want. At the very least I want to try. I want to try every day for the rest of my life. She's the best part of my day, even on the worst days she can make it better."

I see in his eyes the same emotion, the same love I've seen in them for Emma before. It hasn't changed, but it may have grown. I look away from him, sipping my coffee. Joy and sadness are fighting for all of the space in my throat. I can't help but feel that no matter how wonderful Greg may be, how happy Emma would be, I'd be letting her slip away from me again.

It's been so easy to have her in my life, to finally have a family after all of these years. Sara: a woman to love and who loves me, to share my joys, my sadness, my triumphs and my woes. My daughter in the same house as us was so much more than I could have asked for, but she was there, too. She is there. We are, here, now, in this very moment, the family I have always wanted, the family I had always dreamed of but couldn't quite picture. It's taken so long to get here, and it feels like I've had it for too short a time.

Greg's started to fidget again. "Why are you asking me? Why not just propose, then?" I still want to know this part. I don't know why, but it seems important to me to know why he's put himself through this when it would be so much easier, and perfectly socially acceptable, to simply by-pass this tradition.

"Well, I respect you, like I said before. You've almost become like father to me since I've been here, and as a boss, well, you're top shelf right there. But even more importantly, you're important to her. I know that she thinks the world of you, not just loves you, but really idolizes you. She'd change her name, but she'll always be your daughter, and I know for a fact that she'll always want you around, always want you in her life as much as you are now, if not more. You're so important to her, and this is a really important thing that I might do. I wouldn't want to leave you out of it."

His answer was so good, so perfect, except for one word. "Might, Greg?"

He looks at me as though I lost my mind. "You don't think I'd really propose to her if you said no, do you? I mean, I hope that you wouldn't say no, but if you did, I can respect that. I mean, I'd ask why not and what I could do so that could, but I wouldn't go against that." He lays his hands flat on the table in a move that's so symbolic of laying it all out to me I almost laugh at its absurdity. "I'm in love with your daughter. I want to marry her, but I wouldn't dream of doing it without your permission, without your blessing." He looks away, thinking, then looks back at me, fear starting to coil behind his eyes and in his posture.

There's only one answer. I hold out my hand and he takes it, shaking firmly after I initiate it. "You'll be the luckiest man on Earth if she says yes."

"Oh, I know it!" He drops his head, breathing a little easier and laughing. "I will be the luckiest man alive; the luckiest man ever!"

I can't help but joke with him now that the tension has passed. "Just don't start calling me Dad."

*~*~*

* * *

It's only three days before she comes home one night, a sparkling diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand. She's dragging Greg behind her, a shy smile on his face as Sara makes a big deal about the ring and how it happened and what everyone said.

What matters to me is the look in Emma's eyes. The sheer joy I see there, the love, the twinkle that seems especially bright today.

She walks over and when she hugs me, it doesn't feel like I'll lose her at all.

(TBC...)


	50. Understatement of the Century

**A/N-** Yesterday at approximately 6:30 EST (6 years and one day since I posted the first chapter) **_I finished writing IandB!_** There are officially 52 chapters plus an epilogue, so that makes 53 in total. I'll be posting a chapter a day for three days after this until it is done.

I hope you all enjoyed it.

* * *

**Chapter 50: Understatement of the Century**

I couldn't help but smile as I watched her at the window. She looked out the back of the small townhouse to the manicured lawn with a hint of awe sparkling in her eyes. The walls around Emma were bare, but like so many times before, she seemed to bring all sorts of possibilities to them. "You… can't be serious," she half asked, half declared as she turned around, our engagement ring reflecting the sun into my eyes for a second.

I really couldn't help the goofy grin on my face. "Oh, but I am. If you like it I can have the realtor here in fifteen minutes to sign the papers."

"Greg, your apartment is fine. We don't need to-"

I cut her off, moving closer until she's trapped between me and the window. "No. My apartment is small and old and all the way across town. We may not need to, but I want to. This is a better area. Plus we're both closer to work and to your Dad and Sara."

She bites her bottom lip, eyebrows raised and I know she's starting to get the idea. Her hands fall on my shoulders, brushing up and down. If things start to go that way, maybe we won't be calling the realtor… "Are you really sure being closer to your in-laws is a good thing?"

It's so easy to take her in my arms. "Haven't figured out how it can be a bad thing yet." I shrug then steal a kiss. "You like it?"

She turns, grabbing my hand and walking us through the first floor again: spacious living and dining room, brand new kitchen, stopping at the entrance to one of three bedrooms. "What's not to like?" She giggles a bit, looking around. "But what are we going to do with all of this space? It's too much for just us!"

I spin her, pressing her back to my chest and walk her into the room. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking this might make a good office, or maybe throw a ballet barre over there on the wall for you, or maybe…" I take a deep breath, we haven't really talked about this, but I mean, I'm pretty sure about it, "maybe it would make a good nursery?"

She stiffens up, her arms hold onto mine tight. Not a good sign. "You'd still want to have children?"

Why wouldn't I want to have kids with her? I'm wracking my brain, thinking back, trying to figure out if she's given me a reason not to… but nothing pops up, there are no red flags, no lightning bolts… "Well, yeah." The confusion's plain in my voice.

She looks up at me, shocked. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

I shake my head, trying to stay positive. "No, no idea at all."

"I guess when Dad had his surgery he didn't tell you-"

"What surgery?" Now I'm getting worried and confused. And upset. I know my fiancé. I know her family. I've worked with her father for over a decade, I've known her, been dating her for so long- how is there something that I don't know about her that can be this important? It's hard not to panic. "Emma…"

She turns to me and steps away, her eyes can barely look at me as she speaks. "When I first came to live with my Dad he had surgery on his ears- a stapedectomy. He has otosclerosis. My grandmother went deaf from it; my father nearly did, as well. I have a strong predisposition for it, and so would any children we have." She stepped back further into the room and away from me, but I followed, unwilling to let her go as she made herself more upset. "It could show up tomorrow, or in ten years, or never. I could pass it on to every child I have, or none of them. And there's no promise that any treatment could ever work. Sometimes they do- my Dad got lucky, but sometimes they don't."

What can I say to that? How can I even… I take a deep breath as I rush forward and grab her hands. This is not as catastrophic as I thought it would be a moment ago. "Ok." So it's not the most eloquent thing in the world.

"Ok?" She asks, looking up and holding my hands tightly. "How's this ok?" There are tears in her eyes as her face keeps changing, morphing through emotions faster than I can name them. At least she's as confused about this as I am. "How is it ok that we're getting married and we didn't know something as important as this? That we haven't talked about it already? Did you know that I have a family history of ovarian cysts? And alcoholism?"

She tries to step back again but I stop her. "So? We'll talk about it now." I can feel desperation rising in my voice, she's panicking, and I can't let that happen. This isn't how I imagined this afternoon going at all. "This isn't anything that we can't handle. We'll talk about it… now just calm down…"

She rips her hands from mine and turns away from me, I can hear her breath hitching and I know she's crying. Shit. I hate when she cries. "What are we doing? Really, what are we doing? How can we get married when we don't know these important things?"

She turns, tears flowing freely. I push forward to hold her, to pull her to me but her hand on my chest stops me: her bare left hand. She holds up her ring in her right. I won't take it. "What are you doing?" My voice is so quiet, so steady while my heart is beating out of control.

"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," she says through caught breaths that make the words break in unnatural patterns. "Maybe you should really think about this again."

"I don't need to," I take her head in my hands, brush away the tears I can't stand to see, and make her look in my eyes. "I. Don't. Need. To. I love you."

She moves away a little and I couldn't stop her: my body wouldn't let me. She pushed the ring into my hand and stepped away. "We should just think about this." Emma pushed past me, another tear falling. "I need to get to work."

Two steps: I let her get two steps away and that was too many. I turn and go after her, right on her heels, but she's not stopping. "Emma, Emma! Don't do this. I'm serious. Don't… Don't do this." I follow her out of the house, down the steps and to the curb. She hasn't stopped, hasn't turned, and is heading to her car, keys already in her hand. "Emma, please!"

She has to turn to look at me as she opens the driver side door. Her car's between us, only a few feet, but I haven't felt farther away in years. She swipes her tears away with a rough hand. I can't stand it; I can't stand to see her like this. "I have to go to work, Greg."

I watch her go. I think I might be crying, but I don't really care. What the hell just happened? I watch the road, hoping that I'll see her car coming back to me, but there's nothing moving on the quiet side street in the small development. Maybe there are still things I don't know about her, but there can't be that many. I can't imagine how we missed her predisposition for hearing loss. Maybe she thought I already knew… but then again, medical histories aren't exactly things that come up during romantic dinners.

I don't know how long I was standing there when the silence was interrupted by the ringing of my cell. I hold her ring tightly in my left hand as I answer the phone with my right. "What?"

"Well hello to you too, Greg." It's Brass.

"Bad day, is it important?" Well, if that wasn't the understatement of the century…

"Yeah, all hands on deck- we've got a kidnapping- only gone three hours. How soon can you be in?"

It's not Brass' fault. He doesn't know that all I want to do is go after her despite being unable to move from this spot. I look at the ring, close my fist around it and shove it in my pocket. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

* * *

*~*~*

"Sara, can you check and see if Greg's here yet?" Grissom calls out to me in the hallway from his desk. "I want to take him with me to the scene while you and Nick run the surveillance video with Archie."

"Yeah, I'll send him over if I find him." I turn and redirect myself to the right instead of the left. Missing persons, especially like this, are always high priority and high pressure. Archie should be ready to start looking at the video Nick brought in, but Nick can catch me up on a few missed minutes. I turn the corner and can see Greg sitting in the locker room, head down and hands out in front of him.

"Hey, Griss is looking for you." I say as I step into the room. He doesn't move. I step closer, figuring he's got headphones in and didn't hear me. "Greg, I-" When I get closer I can see he's not listening to anything, but staring at something very intently. "Hey, what's up?"

He looks up, lost, confused, maybe even heartbroken. "I uh, I don't really know."

A step closer and I can see Emma's engagement ring in his hand, his eyes shining with unshed tears. I sit next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, the case nearly forgotten. "What happened?"

He shrugs and plays with the diamond and platinum band. "I took her to see the house… all of a sudden she's freaking out. I guess… I mentioned having kids. I mean, she loves kids, she's great with them- works with them all day at the studio where she teaches and I guess I just assumed… All of a sudden she freaked. I don't know…She said we need to think about what we're doing."

I know Emma loves him. I know it. I know she wants to marry him, I can see it in the way she looks at him, can hear it in her voice every time he's around or on the phone. "She loves you, Greg. I'm sure that she just… got overwhelmed." I put a hand on his, stopping him from fidgeting with the ring. "She'll realize her mistake."

"But what if she's right? What if we really shouldn't be doing this?" Greg looks so unsure, so terrified of the answer to his question.

"What do you think?" I ask him, smiling. I'll talk to her as soon as my shift is over. I'll get to the bottom of it if they haven't already made up by then.

"I want to marry her." He declares in a strong voice, determination set on his face. He stands, clutches the ring tight, and pushes it into his jean pocket. He looks down at me. "You said Grissom was looking for me?"

"Yeah," I'm a bit surprised at how quickly he changes the subject. "He wants you to work the scene with him while Nick and I hold down the fort."

He quickly grabs his vest out of his locker and turns to me. "Thanks," is all he says before he walks out the door.

It is a few minutes before I've collected myself enough to get back to what I was doing. I jump up and nearly run down to Archie's lab.

"Where were you?" Nick asks as he and Archie turn as I enter the room. "Hey- what's up? You look, well, stunned."

"Well, I am." I take a seat next to them, all business. I don't know if Greg wants anyone to know. This is their business, not everyone's. He can tell Nick and Archie if he wants to. "Gossip later, find anything yet?"

"Not yet," Archie pipes in as his hands fly over the keyboard. "The footage from the neighbor's security camera has awful compression. I finally cleaned it up and got it to run decently. But the angle sucks seeing as it's not supposed to be aimed at the house we're looking at, so I doubt we'll get anything."

"Hey, you never know!" Nick scowls and leans back in his seat. "I hate kidnappings- but the thing about criminals stupid enough to do it in the day time? Maybe they're stupid enough to get caught, too."

"Well, you might be right. About four hours ago there are three guys sneaking into the back of the house here." Archie rewound the tape and slowed it down; sure enough we could see three shadows on the low grade image sneaking just in frame to the victim's house.

"It's a start, at least." I say, thinking that somehow that was far too easy. "Do you think that you can find out when they left? It'll give us a better time frame to work with."

"I've actually been watching the tape backwards- there were ten hours stored on the camera's drive, we only needed the last three or so. I'll check again, but they must have used a different route out of the house because there wasn't any other movement."

"Oh well," Nick said, standing. "Guess it's better than nothing. I'll give Griss a call and let him know to check near the back entrance of the house."

"Like I said, I'll check again, but I don't think I'll find anything."

"Thanks Archie." Nick and I leave, only to bump into Brass in the hallway.

"Hey guys," Brass forces a smile. "Any good news?"

"Looks like we're dealing with three perps who entered from the back of the house, but they didn't exit that way." Nick rattled off for the police officer.

Brass' eyebrows knit together in thought, a face that somehow always looks a little comical to me. "That's not likely."

"Why not?" Nick asked.

"There's construction on the front half of the house. The rear door is the only working entrance or exit. Unless they pulled her out a window…"

His line of thought hung in the air for a second. None of us wanted to recognize the idea for what I could be, but we couldn't ignore it. I broke the silence. "So it's possible that they're still on the scene?"

"Well, the house was crawling with cops before, but yeah," Brass nodded. "It's possible."


	51. She Needs You More

A/N- Because I missed yesterday's update, I'll be posting the next two chapters only a few hours apart. The Epilogue will be posted as soon as it is back from beta, which will be before 6/25.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

* * *

**Chapter 51: She Needs You More**

There's a trench at least three feet deep around the entire front of the suburban ranch house, exposing the foundation. The Bennings, the owners who are currently missing their teenage daughter, were getting some cracks that had been leaking groundwater repaired. I walked around the trench slowly.

"Nice hole," Greg commented, his voice aiming for the lightness it usually has, but falling flat. The red and blue lights from the police cars on the road make his expression more severe, but it could just be the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I haven't been able to shake all day. "What do you think, Griss?"

"There was rain last night, and the soil hasn't been disturbed since then. See the patterns? No foot prints." Missing kids, kidnapped kids… it never got any easier, and still isn't. Every day I wonder how much longer I can do this job. I wave my hand and Greg follows me around to the back of the house where the two officers are guarding the back door.

We make our way in, carefully circling around the perimeter. The kitchen, where we enter, is in shambles. Pots and pans are strewn across the floor and counters, a serving or two of cold, plain pasta lies in puddles of water across the floor. This was where she struggled.

"What was Brass able to get from the parents?" Greg asks quietly as he starts taking pictures of the room around us, dropping little yellow markers here and there as he does.

"They left for a lunch meeting with their financial planner around 1 pm. They returned home at 4:30 to the house looking like this. Their daughter was supposed to be home all day, no plans. They tried her cell and several of her friends, but the state of the house was enough to get the responding officers to call it in as a kidnapping." I pull out a small brush and begin dusting a dry counter strewn with the remains of a salad for finger prints, trying not to let the images forming in my brain effect me too much, either emotionally or intellectually. I have to follow the evidence.

"Kid home alone in a good neighborhood just disappears? This place does look tossed. It's like she put up a fight… or was really startled." Another flash goes off. I work quietly for a moment before he interrupts my quiet concentration. "I think we need to get Brass looking at hospitals."

"Why?"

"Well, this spaghetti? It's barely cooked. Look at how some of the pieces are still stiff. And the pot's all the way across the kitchen. What if she was cooking when she was surprised? Boiling water is a pretty good defense. She could have thrown this at them, and then tossed the pot if that didn't work. But if she did hit someone- they're bound to have some pretty bad burns." Greg shrugged, looking between the spaghetti strewn across the counter and the floor and the pot sitting across the room with a few strands still clinging to the stainless steel.

"Good hypothesis." I stand, my knees popping quietly as they've steadily begun to do. I walk carefully to the back doorway, leaning out to the officer there. "Officer?"

"Yes?"

"There's a possibility one or more of our suspects, possibly our victim as well, were burned with boiling water. Please advise Detective Brass that we should probably check the hospitals for any recent burn victims."

The man nods and walks away, talking into the radio on his shoulder.

"Grissom?" Greg's voice calls from deeper in the house.

"What did you find?" I ask, creeping carefully towards his voice, avoiding the pasta on the floor. I step carefully in through the living room and to the bottom of the stairs, looking up towards the second floor landing. "Greg?"

"Grissom?" His voice drops in volume, and increases in urgency causing me to push up the stairs without regard for what's on them. "We're not alone!"

It's the crashing nose of splintering wood that sends me running toward my future son-in-law.

*~*~*

Outside, the crashing noise caused the two officers on duty to look up, but not move. It had come from the back of the house, and was muffled to them. They didn't respond until they heard the gunshot.

*~*~*

"What's going on?" Brass wouldn't let go of my forearms, holding me so that I was facing him. It wasn't good, whatever he was going to say, whatever he needs to say, can't be good.

"Sara, it's not good."

Nick steps behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder, and I can feel the concern coming off of Archie in waves behind me. "What's not good? Tell me."

"The scene wasn't cleared." My hand flies to my mouth, desperately trying to hold myself together in the seconds that tick between his sentences. "The perps were still in the house: three of them and the kid. And now they've got Grissom and Greg."

"What?" Nick asks, more furious and confused than afraid or nervous, like I am. I feel his hands come around my shoulders and I'm not quite sure that he isn't holding me up.

"The officers on scene said the entrance to the attic was locked when they searched the house, one of those pull down ones in the ceiling. It was an oversight on their end. A bad one. The suspects were hiding up there when the ceiling gave way. One of the guys fell through, landed on Greg. The other two jumped down, had what they said sounded like a high caliber semi-automatic, and now they're holding Grissom and Greg hostage along with the girl. They've got them lined up in front of the picture window."

There were tears streaming down my face by the time he was finished. We barely even knew what we were up against and the entire thing had escalated in under an hour. Three armed men holding two criminalists and a teenage girl hostage?

Holding Grissom and Greg hostage?

My heart plummeted to my toes. "I need to get there."

*~*~*

What was I going to say? How would I say it? My palms were sweating bullets since I'd opened my cell phone and called her.

_Hey Emma, it's Nick. Yeah, you at home? Stay there. I'll be over in a minute. No, actually, there's…uh… a minor problem. Stay calm. I'll be there soon. _

The front door of the Grissom townhouse swings open before I even make it up the steps. "Nick? What's going on?" Her face is red, like she's been crying, but for a while now. There are tears pooled, waiting for a reason to fall. Her hand is shaking on the door frame. I walk up to her, my hands rest on her shoulders.

"Your Dad and Greg. They're ok for now, but they're in trouble."

She takes two breaths, trying to make the words come out before she can actually make the sounds. "What kind of trouble?"

"They're hostages." And her tears fall silently, which surprises me. I can't help it, I hug her, and she clings to me tighter than I can ever remember. She mummers into my shoulder, words I can't really hear until I pull away. "C'mon, I'll take you over. Sara's already there. We're going to get them out."

"I was wrong. I was just afraid and confused and I was wrong, I have to tell him!" She spits out s quickly I can barely hear the words, never mind follow her train of thought.

"What honey? I'm not following…"

"Greg! I gave him back his ring!" She shoves her left hand in my face and I can clearly see that her ring is not where it's supposed to be. "I freaked out today and ran away over something stupid- so stupid!" She starts crying again, harsher this time, and it tears my heart in two.

"Look," I lift her eyes to mine, pulling out a clean handkerchief from my pocket and whipping the moisture from her face, "We're going to go over there and they're going to be fine. You're going to be able to say all of this to Greg yourself in a little while, ok?" She nods pitifully. I stuff the square of linen in her hand. "You have everything you need on you?" She nods again. I pull the door closed behind her and walk her down to the car.

*~*~*

Emma's out of Nick's car and clinging to Sara before I really register that she's here. Nick slowly sidles up next to me, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Any news, Jim?"

"Nothing," I huff, frustrated. "The guys have them over there in the living room." I point to the front picture window where I've been straining to see their shadows from the street. "We've got a negotiator trying to make contact right now, but so far, nothing."

Nick looked back at the two women standing nervously at the edge of the circle of police cars. Red and blue lights flashed across their faces in the dark, making the worry stand out that much more starkly in their expressions. I thought of Elea for a moment then forced myself back to the task at hand.

"I don't like 'nothing,' Jim." Nick sighed, shaking his head and straining to see into the house.

"I don't like it, either."

*~*~*

It was the guy with the angry red burns on his face that fell on me when the ceiling gave way. Good news is I was right about the pasta. Bad news was that there were two men pointing guns at me through the hole in the ceiling from the unfinished attic. Grissom stopped short when he came into the room, hesitating just enough for one of the guys to jump down through the hole and point a gun at him, too. It was when I tried the wrestle the guy off of me through the plaster and dust that the guy left in the attic shot a hole through the floor next to my head.

We didn't resist from there. They tossed the poor Bennings girl down through the ceiling, she landed on her side with her hands tied behind her back, and marched us through the house. My heart was pounding in my head with every breath, every second. They shoved us on our knees in front of the picture window and my mind just laughed at how clichéd it felt even as they barked commands at us and poked us in the back with their guns. They kept the girl separate, across the room. The sound of her crying wasn't helping my own emotional state.

I watched red and blue lights grow brighter as more and more cars joined the makeshift operation in front of the house. Who was out there? Was it Brass? Nick? Sara?

They would have to tell Emma. Even without me, Grissom was here. Was she here? Was she outside looking at us through the window? Was she worried about the both of us or just her father?

Two men left the room, and I could hear them arguing in the kitchen. The third started to edge to the far wall, listening to what his cohorts were saying, barely even looking at us.

"We have to get out of here…" I whispered to Grissom.

"Take it easy, Greg. I'm sure they're working on it."

"I don't think so. Have you heard a phone ring? It's been hours now that we're sitting here."

"Don't lose it, Greg." He whispered harshly. "We need to keep our heads."

"No, we need to get out of here." I could feel it. I could feel the panic rise up in me. Why did I walk up the stairs? Why did I come to this scene? Why didn't I run after Emma this morning? Why did I force the house on her? Why are we here, right now, with some punk waving a gun in our faces? With every second I could feel the panic rising and there was nothing to do but embrace it.

I made the decision so fast that I didn't even know I made it until it was over. "She needs you more," I whispered, looking Grissom in the eyes.

Before he could do more than look at me with confusion, I'd charged into him, sending him flying through the picture window and into the ditch in front of the house.

(TBC...)


	52. Stay Calm

**Chapter 52: Stay Calm**

I didn't breathe as I watched him come flying through the front picture window. At first I didn't know what, or who, it was that flew from the house and into the ditch of packed dirt below, but everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I closed my eyes, hearing gasps and the clicks as the cops around me leveled their guns at the gaping hole. Emma grabbed my arm, and I think we both stopped breathing.

I looked up, seeing Greg's face flash blue and red though the jagged hole of glass before he was dragged back into the darkness of the house.

People began to yell, Brass' voice rose above the others, SWAT teams moved forward across the no-mans-land of the front yard. They pulled my husband from the ditch, dirty and mud-stained, pushing him to nearly run to the safety of the circle of police vehicles. He stumbled his way across the lawn to the back of the Ambulance, surrounded by the black-clad officers.

I ran hard and fast across the twenty yards between us, Emma clinging to my hand and following. She hitched out a sob, still watching three SWAT officers aim their guns at the broken window where a man had his gun pointed at the head of a teenage girl, screaming back at them.

*~*~*

* * *

I was just catching my breath when I saw them running toward me. Sara's face was worried, tear-streaked, unsettled as she stopped a few feet away, Emma right behind her and grasping her hand for dear life. She was near hysterics; I'd only ever seen her as upset when her mother died.

It was almost like my heart stopped beating. The air left me in a rush again and I couldn't think of anything, couldn't care about anything, until they were right there with me.

I stood, pushing away the EMT that was trying to treat me and opened my arms, my eyes welling with tears. They were in my arms so quickly. All I could think about was holding them; my wife and my daughter. I wanted to stop time, eradicate the possibilities of anything like this ever happening again, and hold them forever. It had taken me so long to build my life to this point, so long to truly be happy, that I never wanted to let any of it go.

Before I knew it, I was crying. It had taken all of my strength to stay calm while we waited in that house. Greg had been the one to panic, but I had wanted to. I had wanted to scream, yell, wrestle the criminals to the ground and free us all, but I knew that wasn't really possible. So I'd tried to stay calm. Then I'd been defenestrated, and it changed.

Flying through the air I couldn't think of anything except that somehow I'd still end up dying, if not by a bullet, then by a shard of glass, or the fall. The packed dirt had been hard, harder than I'd expected, and suddenly I was being dragged to my feet, away from the screaming. I still heard Greg call out the window before he'd been pulled back in.

"Take care of them."

Emma's arms were wrapped around my waist, Sara's around my neck, and I had one arm around each of them, my head buried between them. Sara's hands moved up, twining in my hair, holding my forehead to hers as she tried to find an even breathing pattern. "Are you ok?" she asked desperately, over and over. Emma sobbed quietly into my side, her head dug into my shoulder.

"I'm fine," I assured them both. Besides a few aches and pains, more the result of the fall than any real injury, I was fine. Nothing could be wrong; they were with me now. That made everything alright.

*~*~*

* * *

"What kind of stupid move was that?"

The first guy, angry guy I was calling him in my head, pistol whipped me again. He'd done that three times already for my little stunt. I'm pretty sure my nose is broken, maybe my jaw, too. Hurts so bad it's gone numb now.

It's at least an hour later- I'm not quite sure being there aren't any clocks in here, but that's what my mind's telling me, anyway. Angry guy and mean guy keep pacing through the room, burnt guy just sits on the couch across from us in the shadows, the gun in his hand always pointed at me or the girl.

At least they're paying attention to me now. I'm not sure yet why they wanted her, or what they have done or will do to her, but they're not paying much attention to her anymore. They're pissed at me and I'm just fine with that. They've tied my hands behind my back; have me kneeling on the floor in front of the sofa. It's dark; they haven't turned on a light. All that filters in is the hypnotic flashing of red and blue and the bright white of the flood lights they have pointed at the house through the cracked window that doesn't quite reach where we are.

The jagged edges remind me of some macabre cartoon, waiting like teeth to eat me up in the night.

*~*~*

* * *

"I don't know what happened, except that he panicked." Grissom is holding a force issued blanket around his shoulders, every once in a while rubbing at a smudge of mud on his face that he hasn't quite gotten rid of yet. Sara sits next to him on the tailgate of the ambulance, Emma huddled into Nick's side as they stand close by listening to us talk and keeping a close eye on the house.

"How many are there?" I ask, waiting to relay whatever I can to the people around me. He'd refused to be brought to the hospital adamantly, even though the medics were concerned he may have cracked a few ribs and may have internal injuries. He won't move until this ends, won't leave the people that are his family.

"Three, one badly burned, all with guns. Then there's the girl, and Greg." He winces when he says that, not wanting to voice the situation any more than it has to be.

"Any idea what they want?"

"We caught them by surprise, Jim. Whatever they were planning wasn't this." Grissom reached for Sara's hand, twining their fingers together.

My chest tightened at Emma's small voice. "Is he ok, Dad?"

"For now… he was. I don't know what they'll do, though." His reply is sad and honest. It looks like his heart is breaking to say the words.

Emma nods, tears resuming. Nick tightens his arms around her and whispers into her hair. I can't hear it from where I am.

*~*~*

* * *

Maybe another hour, maybe five minutes has passed. The girl is lying on her side, her arms still tied behind her. Her eyes are closed, but she's not sleeping. No one could sleep in this situation.

I'm still kneeling, but my knees are numb now. I'm still waiting, letting the flashing lights hypnotize me until I won't remember where I am, what I've done, all the things that have gone wrong today… won't remember that I have a sparkling engagement ring sitting in my locker. A locker I may never open again.

"Let's just kill them and get the hell out!" That was angry guy.

"You think we're anything but dead if we do that?" Mean guy has a point.

Burnt guy has passed out. He might be dead, but I'm not sure. They haven't noticed yet.

"First you get the wrong girl, then you make us hide in the fucking ceiling then…THEN we end up with these idiot scientists pretending to be cops! How do you plan on getting out of this?" Angry guy was getting angrier by the minute, but he had a good question.

How do I plan on getting out of this?

* * *

*~*~*

It's when the EMTs finally coerce Grissom to allow them to do a more comprehensive exam that I pull Emma away from all of the confusion. She hasn't been able to tear her gaze away from the façade of the house all night, and it's going on almost four hours now since we first arrived. "Come with me," I whisper, pulling my step-daughter away to the edge of the circle of cop cars, where the night is a little less exciting and the sound is a little more muted.

"Yeah?" She asks, her gaze flickering between me and the house.

"Tell me."

I can see in her eyes that she wants to pretend she doesn't know what I'm talking about but she doesn't have the strength to fight with me. "I freaked out. I just… Greg did this fabulous thing. He took me to see a house- a townhouse in the next development over from ours- and said that if I liked it we could buy it right there and then. He had all these ideas and plans and all of a sudden it was too much." Emma sighed.

I rest my hands on her shoulders, gently turning her away so that she'll look at me, not the house as she speaks. "I saw him before he… before. He told me you gave back the ring."

She nodded, sniffling away the tears. "He mentioned having kids. And I love kids, I want kids, you know that. But I didn't realize… and then we were fighting and it was all too much!"

I hug her, tight and long. "Slow down, you stopped making sense." When she pulls away I push her hair back, smoothing it down. I pull her to the curb across the street, making the reality of the situation fade away just a little more.

She hiccupped as she sat, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "He didn't know about my Dad's hearing, didn't know that I could be affected, too. It shouldn't have set me off, but I got scared. I got scared that maybe we were rushing into this and really weren't ready. I panicked. I gave him back his ring and ran." I take her hand and she squeezes back. "I overreacted, I knew it as soon as I was a block away, but I was still too upset to explain to him what had gone through my head. I wanted to take some time to calm down. I was about to call him when Nick called."

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and we sit silently for a minute before I notice the increase in activity across from us.

The SWAT team is gearing up.

We run back to the center of the circle of cars. Nick, Brass, and Grissom are all standing, waiting expectantly as the black clad forms of SWAT officers surround the house. We join them, waiting.

*~*~*

* * *

When Brass asked, all I could tell him was what I remembered. The door exploded in, Burnt guy catapulted to the floor across from us. The girl screamed, and my knees gave out. The room filled- with people or darkness, I wasn't sure. I think I'd hit my head again.

Someone untied me, tried to help me up. The girl was crying. Burnt guy was definitely dead and Angry guy was bleeding. Maybe shot. Mean guy was on the ground, hands behind his head.

I remember SWAT members pulling me out of the house.

I remember the lights getting brighter, the sounds getting sharper as they helped me out of the house.

I remember them running towards me; Emma, Sara, Nick, and close behind Grissom and Brass.

I didn't remember anything else until the next morning when I woke up in the hospital. Emma was sitting by my bedside. She was wearing her ring.

(TBC...)

A/N- The Epilogue will be posted in the next few days as soon as it is back from Beta. Thank you again to everyone who is reading and reviewing.


	53. Epilogue: Custom and Ceremony

**A/N: This is it! After 6 years, it's finally done. I'd like to thank Kelly, my amazing Beta through all 6 years, 52 chapters, and 3 companions. Rosa- my cheerleader for the first half (before I disappeared to take care of RL things), Ash and Claire- who were behind me all the way, and Michael- who hopped on the bandwagon a little late in things, but gently (and consistently) nudged me to get it done! **

**Lastly- thank you to everyone who has ever read/will ever read this. Your wonderful reviews have kept me going long after the show disillusioned me with its uneven writing and the loss of our two favorite characters. **

**This last chapter took me a while to get to- I knew exactly what would happen in it since I've started the story. Even these last few weeks, it wouldn't come out right. Then, finally, I decided to go back to what really made this story great: the story through Grissom's eyes. I hope you enjoy this last chapter, and I hope you've enjoyed the whole story. I've enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**

**~*~**

_**Epilogue: Custom and Ceremony**_

_**~*~**_

How but in custom and in ceremony

Are innocence and beauty born?

-W.B. Yeats, _A Prayer for my Daughter

* * *

_

_Five years later_

Nearly thirty years have gone by, but somehow I'm back to where I started: looking down at a baby girl and thinking of Yeats. It is the circle of life, exemplified.

Only this time, it is my granddaughter that I'm watching sleep: blue eyed, chubby cheeked Alexandra Sanders asleep in her own crib. Sara and Emma are out at the grocery store; the first time that Emma's been out of the house since she gave birth a week ago. Greg is down the hall in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.

Thirty years ago, I had no idea where I'd be today. I thought that Maggie and I might have a life together, a family together. I thought that maybe I'd be the county coroner by now, or maybe have written a few books on entomology. I'd always hoped, somewhere in the last thirty years, to be a grandfather.

I just never knew that I'd take quite such extraordinary path to get here.

I hear Greg softly step into the room behind me. "She still asleep?" he whispers.

I smile, looking at the already doting father over my shoulder. "Yes." I look back at her, watching as she sucks on her fist in her sleep. "Funny thing about infants, they only seem to want to be awake when you want to sleep. That will change soon enough, though."

Greg joins me at the rail of the crib, looking down at his only daughter just like I had so many years ago. "Yeah, three AM seems to be the hour of choice lately, closely followed by six AM."

Her room is bathed in the soft glow of the sunset, the walls a soft purple with pink and yellow accents all around. I can still remember painting it with Greg and Nick, laughing when Nick screwed his shirt into the crib frame, and watching as Greg carefully applied the soft flower boarder, the determination that the room had to be perfect in his eyes.

"You'll remember each and every three AM feeding, five AM diaper run, and four AM drive around the block." I turn to him, watching him watching Alexandra. The sparkle in his eye, the love and pride there, is far too familiar to me. My hand falls on his shoulder heavily. "She'll change your life in ways you'll never believe, in ways you can never prepare for."

Greg looks up at me, and I can almost see a tear in his eyes. "She already has."

We're silent as we watch over my granddaughter. She'll grow up in a family that's safe and secure; she'll have a mother and a father who love each other, grandparents who love each other as well and who are close by, she'll start out her life with all the things that I had hoped to give to Emma.

And yet, Emma turned out more amazing without those things than I ever could have imagined. Just think about what Alexandra might be able to accomplish, to become…

She gurgles in her sleep, wiggles a bit, and her nose scrunches up: the cries are coming any second. "I'll go get the bottle," Greg whispers, smiling before he disappears out the door. I had no doubts before, I have no doubts now: Greg will be a wonderful father.

Alexandra whimpers the first uncomfortable strains and I can't help myself. "Hey, sweetheart," I say cheerfully as I reach into the crib and gently lift her out. Before the last few days it had been years since I'd held a newborn. It's so easy to forget how small, how fragile they are. "Are you hungry? Your Daddy's getting your bottle… let's go find him." I gently rock her as I walk towards the kitchen, her whimpers high pitched and unhappy, but not a full out cry yet.

Emma and Greg's house went from bare bones when they first moved in to a real, comfortable, warm home in the last five years. Seeing my own daughter as a wife and a mother was just another wish for her that has somehow miraculously been fulfilled.

Greg takes Alexandra from my arms gently; cradling his daughter and helping her find the bottle in her sleepy stupor. She slurps greedily as he sits on the couch watching her drink. I let him have that simple, quiet moment while it's still magical and not yet rote as I go searching for the bag I brought over with me. I take my time, hearing the softest murmurs as Greg talks to Alexandra during my venture to the front door and back.

I sit across from him just as he puts the small bottle down and lifts her tenderly to his towel covered shoulder. I pull out a leather bound book and put it on the table in front of him.

"Yeats?" he asks, looking over as he pats my granddaughter's small back.

"There's a poem in there, 'A Prayer for my Daughter,' which I used to read when Emma was little. I didn't read it to her, it was more for me. It's about all the things that you hope for a baby girl. I think…" I stop and take a deep breath before continuing, "I think you'll like it." I shrug, playing with the edge of the bag. This is more emotional than I thought it would be: seeing my own child have a child, watching as this small family finds their way in life. "Of course, the rest of the poetry is wonderful, but that poem is the reason that I got you this specific volume."

Greg smirks, leaning back so he could wipe the milky dribble away from Alexandra's mouth. "I'll give it a look at about 4 am." He looks at the other thing I brought, the frame I'm holding, and smiles. "Hammer and nails are in the toolbox in the back room. I keep meaning to bring them downstairs- but it seems like there's something new I have to put together every day now."

I grip the frame and smile at him. "The toys will only start getting more parts and less specific instructions."

After a quick detour to the back room, a bare room with a wood floor and a single desk that Emma used to work on teaching combinations and Greg used for an office to pick up the hammer and nails, I'm back in my Granddaughter's room. In my hands I have a pink frame. Inside is a small watercolor by a local artist of Winnie the Pooh looking into a purple Honey Pot, behind that, a certificate for Alexandra's star, bought by Sara and myself.

As I hang it on the wall across from her crib, I can't help but laugh. Sara's still a little uncomfortable, even after almost ten months of living with the idea, that she's a grandmother. Nick and Greg have taken to teasing her about it every chance they get while Emma and I have been a little more sensitive to her feelings on the issue. Despite her thoughts on the titles and linage of it, Sara adores the newest addition to the family.

Greg wanders in as I'm straightening the frame on the wall. "Emma told me you were getting that. She still has hers." He lifts Alexandra up a bit so she can see. Already, she's yawning again, her bright blue eyes blinking. "Ok Grandpa," Greg smiles, holding out his daughter to me, "Your turn." He picks up the hammer and case of nails. "Think you can handle her while I grab a shower and get ready for work?" A lift of my eyebrows is all I need to say. "Right, right…"

Greg disappears into the house and I am once again left alone with my granddaughter. Her tiny mouth works itself as she struggles to find her fist, her eyes bright and wide open now that she's being held by someone new. She reminds me so much of Emma, but I can see Greg in her, too.

Thirty years ago, I couldn't fathom this moment. I couldn't think of all of the things that would happen to me, all of the people I would meet, of the paths that I have walked to get to where I am now. I walk over and sit in the rocking chair in the corner, gently swaying as I settle in.

"You have a lot of people who love you, Alexandra," I talk, barely above a whisper. "We'll do everything we can to make sure…" I take a deep breath, not sure how to say all I want to say, "To make sure that you are happy and healthy and safe. To make sure you have the best life possible." She squeaks up at me, reaching out and grabbing onto the hand that I was using to stroke her hair back.

Her entire hand grasping my finger brings so many memories to the fore front, so many things I want to do with and for her, and so many mistakes I made with Emma for which I want to atone.

"She won't disappear, Dad." Emma's standing in the doorway. I didn't hear them come in, but just past her shoulder I can see Sara smile at me from the hall, dropping a package of diapers by the nursery door.

"Yes she will," I whisper as I look up at my own daughter. "She'll grow up; she'll never be like this again. This Alexandra… will disappear."

Emma walks toward me, a little slower than I'm used to, but she's still recovering from the birth and isn't quite as spry as she once was, though she will be in a few months. "I guess that's true," hormone driven tears flood my daughter's eyes, "but I could do without the midnight feedings, too." She punches me lightly in the shoulder. "I'm going to tell Sara you made me cry again."

I stand, handing my only baby her baby. "Darling, you cry during hot dog commercials." She laughs, then tickles Alexandra's belly, causing the faintest of giggles to slip out of the child.

"Point taken." She holds her baby closer to her and turns, looking at the painting I just hung up. "It's beautiful."

"Her certificate is behind it, just like yours." I shove my hands in my pockets, shrugging. I love watching them together.

"I've been thinking of hanging mine up in here. I hate that it's sitting in a box right now." She crosses to the changing table and begins to change Alexandra's wet diaper.

"There does come a point in every girl's life where she'll outgrow her Winnie the Pooh print." It's true, and I've always been amazed at how attached she's been to that simple picture. "I think being a mother yourself signals that it's far beyond the time when you should be having that hanging in your own room. But you're right, I think Alexandra would enjoy it."

She tosses away the diaper and snaps up her daughter's onesie. "Thanks, Dad." She lifts her up, cradling her tight to her chest, and bumps my shoulder as she heads out of the room. "Come on, Sara and I got stuff for sundaes. At the very least you can all let me eat in peace before you abandon me for the night!" Her voice is light and happy, and I can't help but laugh as I follow her out.

From the hall I watch Emma pass the baby to Sara and the joy they share. A freshly showered Greg passes me and heads straight for Emma, hugging her from behind and kissing her cheek.

I smile, leaning into the wall, content to watch everything unfold around me for a moment. I never could have foreseen this, and I never would have wanted to. Every tear, every fear, every moment when I wanted to go back and change what had happened led me here. How could I want to change watching Sara, my love, my wife, talking happily with my daughter or watching as Greg lays on the couch, my granddaughter on his chest, smiling and singing the ABCs to her?

"Dad?" Emma calls from the kitchen, waiting expectantly. Sara looks at me, knowing I've lost myself to my thoughts again and just a bit amused at it. Greg is staring too, asking Alexandra if she can say 'Grandpa.'

I push away from the wall and step into the room, for the first time in my life not hesitating or questioning, and lose myself in the family that somehow, someway, has formed around me.


End file.
